


Control

by laugh_a_latte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffee, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Homophobic Language, Late Night Conversations, M/M, early morning conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: Harry is done with suffering, preferring to move forward after the war. So, when he discovers Draco Malfoy is still suffering, fighting an invisible war of his own, can anyone blame Harry if he wants to help?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Manorexic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/461306) by kc404duh. 



> Hi guys! Instead of finishing my million WIPs, I wrote up an completely new fic. Right now she's looking to be around 20k words or more. I have written 80% of this so I can guarantee at this point it will be finished quickly. This fic is COMPLETELY different from anything I've ever written. It was definitely a challenge for me.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for eating disorders, namely anorexia and bulimia. This gets graphic enough to the point where I got uncomfortable writing and had to take breaks. If you could be triggered in any way PLEASE do not read this fic. The perspective I wrote here comes from my own personal experience with eating disorders and from another fic, which leads me to say . . .
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by _Manorexic_ by kc404duh over on Fanfiction.net. If you've read that, you will find a lot of similarities (blatant, especially in the beginning, so all credit for those ideas to the original author.) And if you like this fic, please go check that one out! It's amazing, but be warned it remains unfinished since 2012. I did not know that when I started it. It is still definitely worth the read, though, and is nearly resolved by the end.
> 
> One final note, I do not have a beta and most certainly missed weird grammar stuff and/or misspelled words. Apologies in advance, and I will fix them as I notice them!
> 
> Anyway, enough of my rambling, and here you go!

“So, where were you at breakfast?” Pansy hums, pulling up beside Draco in the crowded hallway, managing to elbow him painfully in the process.

“Ouch, watch where you put those weapons, Pans,” Draco hisses, peering over the crowd. Merlin, why were people so bad at simply walking in the corridors? _Move faster._

Pansy responds by elbowing him again. “Answer the question, Draco.”

“I was busy reviewing my Charms essay. The one that’s due in five minutes. The one I know for a fact you didn’t do." Draco gives her a pointed stare.

“The Charms essay is due tomorrow, you twat.”

“No, that’s the Arithmancy essay,” he drawls, enjoying the look of dawning horror on her face.

“ _Shit!_ ”

Draco smirks down at her, relief flooding through him. He’s escaped her wrath, this time around. Because he wasn’t reviewing his Charms essay. He’d finished that ages ago. He was in fact, sleeping in, skipping breakfast and happy for it. He’d been feeling more tired recently, so he could use the extra sleep, anyhow.

He’s been really good about his meals recently. He showed up at dinner last night, much to Pansy and Blaise’s pleasure. She kept throwing him these ridiculous glances as he ate his small meal. It was only to shut her up, she kept insisting. He could feel the food sitting like a stone in his stomach, sticking there. He’d made it convincing enough, as he excused himself early to start his Potions essay, complaining of his idiot partner the whole time. Blaise snickered, giving him his usual odd look, deciphering if Draco was telling the truth. Draco was pretty sure he’d bought it.

The minute he was out the door though, he ran to the toilets and didn’t think twice about what Pansy would say if she knew he was desperately shoving his fingers down his throat, blinking back the tears that came with.

Charms goes by quickly for Draco, Pansy’s chagrin being his source of entertainment through the ordeal. She tells him she expects him at lunch, and is gone before he can respond. Draco scowls at the space where she just fled from, turning quickly on his heal to make his way to his next class, running right smack into what feels like a brick wall. He stumbles back, looking up into the surprised face of Harry Potter, of all people. Of course.

“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy,” Weasley spits. Draco scowls in response, opening his mouth to reply. He is stopped short when Potter holds a hand up.

“Let it go, Ron. He didn’t do it on purpose,” he sighs. Draco stares in shock. He’s barely spoken a word to Potter all year, their only exchange being polite, stilted nods whenever they accidently made eye contact. 

“Potter,” he replies, nothing behind the word. Potter only gives him an indistinguishable look as he drags Weasley away.

Weird.

~~~~~

Harry isn’t mad at Malfoy anymore. He couldn’t be, not after everything. Not after they saved each others lives and he’d spoken at his trial. Malfoy had looked so pathetic and broken cowering under the Wizengamot, and Harry couldn’t stand the sight of it. Honestly, he was just over suffering of any kind and wanted to _move forward._

He hasn’t even spoken to him all year, not until today when they’d bumped into each other. For a fleeting moment, Harry was indeed angry out of habit, but that died as soon as he saw the shocked expression in Malfoy’s own face.

Malfoy’s face.

Harry had barely glanced his way all year, and he was suddenly right in front of him and, well, he didn’t look so great. He was pale. Always has been, but he looked on the verge of being ill. The circles under his eyes were dark and his cheekbones stood out far too much, his cheeks hollower than ever. And, his hair, how had Harry not noticed? It was long. He vaguely remembers it being long at his trials, like he hadn’t cut it since before that awful year, but he realized Malfoy had never cut it after the trials, either. It was far past his shoulders, and tied back in a neglected sort of way.

Malfoy looked awful. But, why?

Harry found himself wanting to find out.

He was currently doing something he hasn’t done in a long time, feeling like old times for the briefest of moments.

“Are you okay, mate?” Ron’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. Harry pulls his eyes away from the blond head down the table and to Ron, who is shoving a sandwich in his mouth like his life depends on it. Hermione watches in mild horror.

“What?” Harry replies, mind still on Malfoy. He is sitting between Parkinson and Zabini, who speak to him rapidly. Malfoy is growing visually uncomfortable by the second, snapping back at them every other moment. Merlin, he looks like he’s going to be sick. Pansy is pleading with Malfoy over what looks to be a half-eaten apple, to Harry’s utter confusion. Zabini looks right pissed.

“You’re zoning out,” Ron says between swallows, brows drawing together.

“Just tired, the eighth year workload is impossible,” he grumbles, pulling the excuse from his arse. Hermione sighs.

“Honestly, if you managed your time better, the workload isn’t bad at all.”

“I’m with Harry here, it’s bloody ridiculous,” Ron complains.

“Well, I’ll admit it is a fair amount heavier than sixth year, but if you’d follow those timetables I wrote up for you two you’d have nothing to worry about.”

“Those timetables look like yours third year!’ Ron laughs.

“‘Mione, it’s impossible,” Harry agrees.

The conversation of coursework flows back and forth, and after another couple of minutes, Harry glances over to find Malfoy and his gang gone.

He finishes lunch with Ron and Hermione, and the three make their way to Potions.

“Thank Merlin this is the last class of the day,” Ron yawns. “I’m exhausted.”

“You can’t be, you didn’t finish your Defence homework that’s due tomorrow morning,” Hermione rolls her eyes. Ron waves her off.

“Don’t worry, Ron, you can borrow mine.”

“Harry!” Ron cries as they turn the corner. “You’re my hero, honestly--”

“What’s going on here?” Hermione wonders aloud, the three stopping at voices ringing out from down the hall.

“--doesn’t make any sense!” It’s Zabini and he’s trailing Malfoy. They look livid, barely aware of the stream of students stopping to watch the scene.

“Get away from me, Blaise, it’s none of your concern.”

“Draco, _Blaise_ , please, let’s just go to Potions and deal with this later?” Parkinson begs, jumping between the two men, reaching out to Malfoy.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” He barks, stalking right past the Potions door.

“Where are you going?” Parkinson yells, and Zabini snaps.

“You know exactly where he’s going,” He bellows, rounding on Pansy. He turns to shout at Malfoy’s retreating back, voice dripping with disgust. “Because he’s lost all fucking _control._ Going to go shove your pretty fingers down your throat, huh, Draco? Merlin forbid you eat a fucking apple!”

“Blaise!” Pansy shrieks.

Malfoy freezes. The entire hall freezes and gasps ring out. The silence that follows is the loudest one Harry’s ever heard. What in the hell is Zabini talking about?

Malfoy, with a dangerous amount of control and calm, struts up to Zabini and slaps him cold across the face. He turns and walks straight past Harry, whose eyes follow his retreating form.

The spell breaks and the hall erupts. Parkinson pushes and shoves past, running after Malfoy. Zabini walks into Potions like nothing just happened. It’s suddenly very loud.

“Think Zabini was serious?”

“--he could have just been lashing out,”

“--but Malfoy was furious--”

“--didn’t know Draco Malfoy had an eating disorder--”

“What a scandal!”

“--think he really does that?”

“Do you think Blaise was being serious?” Hermione asks Ron and Harry, brow drawn together.

“Nah, he was probably just making fun of Malfoy for being such a girl all the time.”

“Ronald! That’s awful to say!” Hermione turns on her boyfriend, looking furious. “If Malfoy really does that, he has an eating disorder. They’re nasty things, Ron.”

“Yeah, but blokes don’t care about those types of things.”

“Ron, men can have eating disorders, too. It’s horribly sexist of you to say that,” Hermione shudders.

“Sorry!”

“I wonder if it’s true,” Harry mutters, thinking back to Malfoy’s bony face, his unhealthy color. 

“It’s just Malfoy, though,” Ron says, nudging Harry.

“Even if it _is_ Draco Malfoy, if it’s true he needs to get help. They can be deadly, you know.”

“Good, one less Death Eater crawling the streets--Ouch!” Ron holds his arm, where Hermione just punched him. “Sorry!”

Harry ignores this as the class finally settles down to Potions. The only thing he could focus on was his growing curiosity. Did Malfoy really do what Zabini said? Harry felt a familiar feeling grow in his chest. It suddenly felt a lot like sixth year.

~~~~~

“Draco, stop!” Pansy catches up to him, grabbing his arm as he reaches the Entrance Hall. Draco pulls at her grip, but Pansy is stronger.

“Let go of me,” he seethes, feeling disgusted with himself. He’d shown up to lunch, planning on dropping by quickly to appease Pansy. He was ambushed by Blaise. The conversation wasn’t pleasant. It started out simple enough. Blaise said some nonsense about Draco being skinny. Pansy rounded on him and begged him to eat something. He was doing fine with not eating. He was perfectly _fine._

Then, Blaise started bringing up utter bullshit about how horribly pathetic Draco was acting for a pureblood and that there were better ways to get attention than starving yourself, and Draco snapped because did Blaise really think this was for attention? It was simple. Draco had lost control of everything, let his body be taken by the Dark Mark, and Draco needed control back. He could control what he ate. Food took control of his body, causing it to become bigger than it already was. If he didn’t eat, food couldn’t control his body anymore. He could control how he looked. He’d tried explaning this to Blaise for the upteenth time as he tried desperately to get away from him and Pansy so he could get rid of the apple sitting in his stomach. He’d lost control and let them convince him to eat it.

“Draco, _please_ you’re just hurting yourself!”

“I am fine, Pansy!” Draco insists. He’d know if he wasn’t fine, and he’s not fine right now because he could practically feel the food attaching itself to his body, making him fatter and that just wouldn’t do.

Pansy lets go and Draco all but runs to the Prefect’s bathroom.

~~~~~

Harry watches Malfoy over the next couple of days. Malfoy is usually present at breakfast, where he drinks water and black coffee. He is never at lunch and rarely at dinner, where he usually eats very little and is one of the first to leave.

It is unusual and a cause for concern, but Harry watches Malfoy in class and catches glimpses of him in the corridors and the Eighth year common room and he seems . . . Fine. He teases Pansy and some other Slytherins with a smirk or sneer. Slowly, he and Zabini are seen together again, like that outburst never happened. Harry has a hard time believing that anyone, let alone Malfoy of all people, would be able to make themselves throw up their meals. Why would anyone actually want to do that to himself? It’s disgusting and sounds awful, so he doubts Malfoy would even think of it.

The rumors fly, however, and soon all of the seventh and eighth years suspect what Zabini said. Hermione keeps catching Harry staring at Malfoy, giving him these hard to read looks.

“It’s called bulimia, you know,” Hermione says out of the blue while they study in the Eighth year common room one night.

Harry drags his eyes away from Malfoy, who is sitting in a corner with Zabini and Parkinson, looking mildly uncomfortable, but chatting away. Hermione is giving Harry a pointed look.

“Sorry?”

“What Zabini described. Purging food after you eat. It’s an eating disorder.”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t really think Malfoy does that. Zabini was probably over exaggerating. He just doesn’t eat a lot, is all.”

“How d’you know that?” Ron raises an eyebrow at him.

“Er, well . . .” Harry swallows.

“Harry, you are the least subtle person on this planet. We know you’ve been watching him ever since Zabini’s spectacle last week,” Hermione rolls her eyes.

“Well, I’m not the only one! Other students have been talking about his eating habits, too.”

“It’s awful, the way these rumours spread,” Hermione shakes her head. “If he’s restricting his food, then he might have anorexia. Maybe some combination of the two.”

“These sound like spells,” Ron snorts. Harry chuckles before Hermione shoots them a quelling look.

“He’s probably fine, ‘Mione.”

“Can we drop it? I’ve had enough Malfoy talk to last a lifetime,” Ron yawns.

Hermione shoots a glance at Malfoy, then to Harry, and they resume their studies.

~~~~~

An hour later, Harry can’t help but be curious. Beyond appearing uncomfortable, Malfoy left fifteen minutes prior, arms wrapped around himself. Pansy stood as he walked out, but Blaise just grabbed her wrist and shook his head. Harry excuses himself (“Just need to stretch, we’ve been at it for ages.”) and leaves to his dorm. After a minute of rummaging, he finds the Marauders Map and spreads it open across his duvet.

Harry’s stomach drops when he finds Malfoy’s dot in the nearest men’s loo inside of a stall.

Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s . . . But if he was just using the loo, he’d have gone to the ones inside the Eighth year quarters. Being this late at night, no one would really be roaming the corridors, meaning that Malfoy would have privacy to do what Harry hopes he isn’t doing.

Harry tosses the Map back in the drawer and makes his way quickly to the men’s toilets on that floor. He arrives at the door, suddenly very apprehensive as to what he might find on the other side.

Fuck it, he’s a bloody Gryffindor. And this is just Malfoy. And he’s curious.

He opens the door, slowly stepping in. He spots Malfoy sitting against the stall door. His knees are pulled into his chest, his head buried in his arms. His hair is a mess, falling all over his jumper. Harry approaches slowly, realizing that Malfoy is shaking as he gets closer. Harry’s trainers squeak on the tile.

Malfoy’s head snaps up. His face is sickly pale, and there are drying tear streaks around his eyes. Loose strands of hair stick to sweat on his face. He looks like . . . Well, he looks like he’s just been sick. And Harry can’t believe it. That Draco Malfoy, of all people, could do this.

And Harry suddenly feels quite helpless. What do you do in this situation?

“Come to gloat, Potter?” Malfoy says, but his voice is shaky and there is no bite at all behind the words.

“Malfoy,” Harry swallows. “Are you okay?” And, Merlin, what the fuck was wrong with him? Harry could just die of embarrassment, right then and there, because of course Malfoy isn’t fucking okay. 

Malfoy barks out a mirthless laugh. “Terrific.”

He pushes himself off the floor, arms wrapped tightly around himself, still shaking. He starts walking, and Harry only registers that Malfoy is leaving as he passes him. Harry turns sharply, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Malfoy, wait--”

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Malfoy hisses, recoiling away from Harry’s hand. “Isn’t this just great, Potter? Now you can confirm to the whole bloody school that Blaise was right last week! Isn’t it _marvelous?_ Draco Malfoy! The fat, ugly Death Eater who has to throw up whenever he eats just so he can have some fucking con-- _What?_ ” Malfoy stops, at the look on Harry’s face.

Harry is, in all honesty, quite horrified at what Malfoy just said. Fat, ugly, Death Eater? Malfoy was none of those things, although many would disagree on the last one, but Harry knew the truth.

“Why the bloody fuck would I go telling people that?” Is what Harry lands on.

“Because you love watching me suffer, Potter. You just walked in on me. This is golden material,” Malfoy replies, resigned.

“I don’t love watching you suffer,” Harry whispers. Maybe he did once, but that was a long, long time ago. Right now Harry doesn’t want any more suffering. But, right here in front of him, Malfoy is still suffering.

Malfoy sneers at him, and Harry watches as the words that would normally accompany that sneer don’t come. Instead, Malfoy drops the sneer, and just looks tired. He’s still white as a ghost, and the circles under his eyes look more like bruises.

“I’ll see you around, Potter,” Malfoy sniffs, and promptly leaves, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the loo, itching to do something. What, he isn’t quite sure of.

~~~~~

Draco feels like he _should_ feel angry. Potter just walked in on him seconds after he’d finished. Potter knew. And, fuck, it was Draco’s fault. Potter was thick, after all, maybe he didn’t even suspect Draco had just thrown up, but then Draco had to snap and confirm it.

He sits back down with Pansy and Blaise with a huff. Blaise is staring at him. Pansy isn’t catching his eye.

“I’m fine, you two,” he sighs, opening his Arithmancy textbook, taking a sip from his water bottle. With Potter there, he didn’t take any time to compose himself before leaving. He pulls his hair back into a bun to get the mess out of his face.

Moments later, Potter slams open the door, managing to startle everyone in the vicinity. He looks straight at Draco, who just looks back, controlling his features to appear neutral. Potter sighs, closes the door with some more control, shoots Draco one more glance full of some emotion before rejoining his gaggle of Gryffindors.

Draco should be angry. No doubt he’ll tell them exactly what he walked in on. But, Draco isn’t angry. He’s calm. Resigned. Because he’s fine, and people will say whatever they want to say about him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is really wrong.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring at Potter until Blaise clears his throat.

“Draco, what _really_ happened?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at Draco.

“I told you, I just needed to use the loo,” Draco scoffs, and Pansy sighs. Blaise slams his book closed.

“Bull _shit_ , Draco. Why was Potter looking at you like that? Did he see you?”

Draco lets out a moan, rubbing at his eyes. Merlin, he is so tired.

“Draco, he _saw you!_ ” Pansy barely restrains her yell to a whisper.

“He didn’t, not during. Just after. Fuck, he probably didn’t think anything of it but then I opened my stupid mouth. But it doesn’t matter,” he shoots them a glare. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Draco. I don’t know what is going on. You were doing so much better since the summer. We thought you were better . . .” Pansy looks sadly at Blaise.

“Maybe you just got better at hiding it,” Blaise states, then looks back at Draco. “You were eating at most meals again, Draco. Well, unless.”

“Unless you weren’t keeping them down, Draco,” Pansy hisses, eyes widening in realization. Draco glares at her, because she finally figured it out. He’s surprised it took her this long. “You can’t do that. Merlin, I don’t know what’s _worse!_ Not eating or throwing it backup every single time,” Pansy’s eyes begin to grow shiny, and Draco can’t take it.

“Draco,” Blaise sighs. Draco is taken aback, because Blaise just sounds sad. And that isn’t right. “If you keep this up, you’re going to kill yourself.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Draco sighs, collecting his things, standing to leave.

“ _So far,_ ” Blaise shakes his head.

Draco stalks out, catching Potter’s eyes for a fleeting moment as he leaves. He feels those eyes on his back until he turns the corner.

~~~~~

Surprisingly, nothing happens over the next few days. The gossip is still there, Draco can hear it, but it’s just the same as it was before Potter walked in on him.

Potter didn’t tell anyone.

Draco is relieved, despite himself. He doesn’t understand it, but hey, that’s Harry Potter. Boy of mysteries.

“Here,” Blaise says, handing him a slice of buttered toast. Draco pauses, mug of black coffee halfway to his lips.

Draco shoots him a glare. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re stomach has been growling all morning, stupid,” Blaise rolls his eyes. “You need to eat.”

Pansy leans in close. “Please, Draco. Just this, and he won’t bother you again all day. Not even for dinner.”

Draco sighs, knowing he’s cornered. If he refuses, Blaise will no doubt create another scene. Draco takes the slice of toast, and eats it slowly, feeling every bite stick.

He feels disgusting.

Blaise, the fucking tosser, walks him to his first class, which they don’t even share, making sure he doesn’t have an escape. Draco lets him. He has a free period after. Unfortunately, it is one Pansy also shares. She finds him in the hall and won’t leave his side, no matter what. This is when Draco starts to panic.

This is fine, he can get through this. He can wait. He’s patient.

“You said you wouldn’t,” Draco scowls at dinner as Pansy drops a plate in front of him, and his control over his emotions begin to slip. He’s been patient all day.

“No, I said Blaise wouldn’t.”

“You’re such a fucking Slytherin,” he scoffs, pushing the plate back towards her.

“Draco, you need to eat.”

“I did, this morning, if you haven’t forgotten.”

He can still feel it sitting there, like a fucking weight in his stomach. Digesting. And, Merlin, it’s too much. He can feel it starting to stick with him, becoming a part of him, and his control is slipping.

“Draco, one small meal won’t make you fat, Merlin.” Blaise hits the table. And Draco can’t do it. They don’t get it. It’s a whole meal on top of what he ate this morning, he let them do this and he can _feel_ it there, and he can’t take it for another second.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he gets out, voice shaking and he stands, walking calmly out of the Great Hall. 

~~~~~

Harry watches Malfoy walk out. He had his eyes on him all day since the surprise of that morning when Malfoy had eaten a slice of toast. Just now, he was talking with Parkinson and Zabini over a plate of food, eyes growing wider and breath coming shorter by the second, and now he’s left.

“I’m going to the loo,” he announces, cutting Ron off as he stands and leaves, casually as possible. Ron shrugs and continues his story. Hermione’s eyes are glued to his back as he goes.

By the time he’s left the Great Hall, Malfoy is nowhere to be found. Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair, thinking. If Malfoy was going to the toilets, he wouldn’t go to one where just anyone could walk in, as he learned that night when he found Malfoy sitting on the floor. So, he wouldn’t go to the ones near the Great Hall. The most private bathroom at this time of day would be the Prefect’s Bathroom.

Harry takes off, taking the stairs two at at time until he’s on the fifth floor, making his way towards the statue that leads to the Prefect’s Bathroom. He gives the password, not thinking at all about what he’s even doing or what his plan is if Malfoy really is in here.

The statue lets him in and he steps inside quietly, sticking in the shadows when he sees Malfoy standing in front of the mirror.

Harry puts a hand in front of his mouth to prevent from gasping. Malfoy’s shirt is unbuttoned, he’s clutching his robes in his hand. Tears are streaming down his face, even though he’s not outwardly crying, but Harry barely notices, eyes drawn to Malfoy’s reflection.

His waist is thinner than anything he’s seen, thinner than even Ginny’s. His ribcage is nearing on skeletal, every rib visible, protruding out over his stomach.

Draco’s hand is resting on his stomach in the mirror, pinching at it. His trousers hang low on his hips, those hip bones protruding out a frightening amount.

Malfoy drops his robes and runs both hands over his face, wiping away the tears as he starts towards the stalls, and Harry jumps into action before he can think.

“Malfoy!” He yells, the sound reverberating across the cavernous bathroom. Malfoy nearly trips, and spins around. He wraps his arms tightly around his torso, pulling his shirt closed, shrinking back.

Harry takes a few steps forward, but freezes. What’s his plan?

“You’re not a prefect,” Malfoy says evenly.

“Neither are you,” Harry replies, feeling like a fucking idiot.

“I used to be. You shouldn’t even be able to get in here. And you should probably leave,” Malfoy says, swallowing, breath picking up speed.

“I’m not leaving,” Harry says, closing the distance between them. Malfoy takes a step back, one hand reaching for the stall door.

“You need to leave, Potter,” Malfoy replies, swallowing thickly, eyes darting between Harry and the stall in a frenzy.

“I can’t bloody leave you here!” Harry yells, reaching towards Malfoy as his eyes trail Malfoy’s thin frame.

“Don’t fucking touch me, don’t look at me!” Malfoy snaps. “Get the _fuck_ out of here, Potter, I need to--”

Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm, “Malfoy, stop!”

Malfoy rips his arms away and pushes Harry. Or tries to, Harry only lets go out of surprise.

“ _Leave me alone,_ Potter! Merlin, I need to throw up, get out of here!” Malfoy shrieks, tears returning. And he looks so animalistic, so terrified, so out of control that Harry retreats another step, but he doesn’t leave.

“Malfoy . . .” 

“Fine, don’t leave. Fine! I can’t, I don’t bloody _care_ . . .” Malfoy is shaking badly. He whips back around and throws open the stall door with a startling bang, sinking to his knees. Harry’s heart is pounding at his ribcage because he can’t believe this is really happening, that he’s letting this happen.

Harry takes a step forward, but freezes helplessly as Malfoy shoves up his left sleeve and reaches his hand into his mouth, lets out a sickening gag and convulses, grips the porcelain bowel and retches, hair slipping over his face.

Harry’s never seen something so horrible in his life, so helpless and terrible. How could anyone do that to himself? Harry can’t move, can’t react at all as Malfoy reaches far back into his throat again, that Mark on full display. His hand goes much too far in, and he lets out an unnatural shudder, coughing and clutching the bowl as he completely empties his stomach.

He is shaking badly as he spits and reaches up to flush. He takes two deep breaths before he stands, hand on the wall for support. He runs his clean hand through his hair and stumbles out of the stall, not even looking at Harry as he washes up at the sink, rinses his mouth and splashes water on his face. Harry can only watch in pure shock and confusion and a _didthatreallyjusthappen_ panic as Malfoy fixes his hair and rolls his sleeve down. He carefully buttons his shirt and tucks it back in his trousers, and it’s like nothing happened.

Malfoy reaches for his robes on the ground, twisting his nose up at the wrinkles he caused. He shakes it out and slips it on over his shoulders, glancing at Harry.

“Don’t look at me like that, Potter, I _told_ you to get out, bloody idiot,” he sneers, adjusting his robes as he starts for the door.

“Wait,” Harry gasps, trailing after him. “I said _wait._ ”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Malfoy throws over his shoulder.

“Fucking hell, Malfoy, I just watched you puke your guts out, let me talk to you!” Harry yells. Malfoy, fucking finally, stops, turning around.

“What?” He asks dangerously, raising an eyebrow.

Harry doesn’t actually know what. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. It started out as a mere curiosity, but after witnessing _that_? Harry suppresses a shudder, and all he can get out is “Why?”

Malfoy glares at him for seconds, but when Harry doesn’t respond, Malfoy’s shoulders sag and his eyes lose their edge.

“Potter, I’ve lost control over everything in my life. The only thing I really have left anymore is my own body. I was raised on appearance. Malfoys must always look presentable, must always be beautiful. I’m not beautiful, which is unacceptable for a Malfoy. I’ve always been too big, too fucking hideous,” he sighs, shaking his head. “The point is, I can control what I eat, I am trying to control my body. I’ve already fucked everything else up, the least I can do is whatever I can to live up to the Malfoy standard. It’s all I have left, don’t you see? It’s the only thing left I can control, the only thing that’s mine.”

Yeah, that didn’t make any sense to Harry, but he’s smart enough to know not to say that. Besides, the only thing he can focus on is that Malfoy just called himself too big, too hideous, which was absurd.

“Too big? Malfoy, you’re so skinny,” Harry rambles, thinking of his emaciated body hidden beneath his clothes. “Merlin you’re too thin--” Harry freezes at the look of pure rage on Malfoy’s face.

“Don’t mock me, Potter,” he spits out. “You’re fucking insane if you think that. Are you trying to make me feel worse? Can’t you fucking see? I’m trying to fix it, Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry says, surprised. Malfoy couldn’t possibly think Harry was making fun of him? Couldn’t he see how skinny he was? “There’s nothing to fix. You couldn’t possibly believe you’re fat.”

Malfoy’s expression reverts back into one of calm fury, which Harry knows is dangerous. “Good talk, Potter,” he says evenly, before leaving the room, leaving Harry utterly confused.

Harry watches the door slam shut in front of him, his confusion subsiding as a new need arises, one that he feels weird about, being aimed towards Malfoy.

Visions of him heaving, pale and shaking over the toilet, flash in his mind and he shudders. Merlin, he feels terrible. He wants to help Malfoy, his impossible personality be damned.

But, how? Malfoy obviously didn’t think there was a problem with what he was doing, he thought he was fat, what was wrong with him?

Harry needed to figure this out.

~~~~~

“Harry,” Hermione snaps, waving a quill in front of his face. “For the love of God, what is going on with you tonight?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Ron asks, concerned. “You did run off to the loo during dinner and didn’t return. You sick?”

“I’m fine, guys,” Harry sighs shaking his head.

“Well, obviously something is bothering you. You can tell us anything, you know,” Hermione insists.

Harry chances a glance to the corner. Malfoy is sitting there, his back to Harry. Harry can see his shoulder blades poking at his robes as he hunches over, quill scribbling on parchment. Parkinson catches Harry’s eye and sneers at him. Harry turns away.

“Harry,” Ron says, drawing his brow together, and Harry gives in. Because, honestly, what is he to do?

“You guys cannot tell anyone this,” he whispers, leaning in.

“All right.” Hermione worries her cheek.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’m serious. No one can know.”

Ron and Hermione exchange a look, but agree. Harry casts a subtle Muffliato around them.

“I walked in on Malfoy throwing up.”

Hermione sighs, but Ron just looks confused.

“And that’s it? Malfoy’s ill?”

“God, Ron,” Hermione shakes her head.

“No, I mean he was . . . Merlin, it was awful. I tried to stop him, but he was frantic. He made himself do it on purpose. I didn’t know what to do,” Harry confesses, running a hand through his hair. “And his shirt was open, and I’ve never seen anyone that skinny. It was awful.”

“Merlin, so he really does it, then?” Ron glances at Malfoy. “That’s stupid.”

“Ronald, honestly,” Hermione mumbles. “That’s awful, Harry. What did he say to you?”

“Well, it was so weird. After he . . . Afterwards, he walked right passed me and washed up, not saying anything. Then, he was immediately back to himself. Sneering and acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. He flipped his shit when I told him how skinny he was. Like he actually believes he’s not. It was . . . Scary. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, it’s Malfoy, isn’t it?” Ron replies, shrugging. “Why do you care?”

“I mean, it _is_ just Malfoy. I shouldn’t,” Harry replies. 

“See? Problem solved,” Ron replies, clapping as if it was. Harry brings down the Muffliato, shaking his head.

“Yeah.”

The thing is, Harry does care. He’s never been one to just stand by while someone is hurting. The fact that it’s Malfoy really should matter, but Harry had always thought of Malfoy as this proud, strong, arrogant person. And he was still those things in personality, but what Harry saw was terrifying, that someone like that could have such a bad disorder. He couldn’t stand it, and wanted to fix it.

He catches Hermione looking at him, calculating. She gives him a soft smile before continuing her revision.

~~~~~

Draco is bloody freezing. He doesn’t remember it being so cold. And he is so exhausted. He feels himself slide down the wall, knees giving out. He pulls them to his chest and buries his head in his arms. He can’t stop shivering.

He should get up, should wash his face and mouth and get back to the dorms, but he doesn’t think he can stand up right now, now that he’s on the floor. And he’s really cold, he doesn't much want to move. Maybe if he just rests for a minute, he’ll be able to make it back and sleep proper. But he didn’t finish his Ancient Runes assignment that’s due in the morning, so maybe he’d have to force a cup of coffee and focus. He’s just so tired.

The door creaks open, and Draco is not at all surprised when Potter peers around the door, searching. He takes a few tentative steps in, letting the door close firmly behind him. Then, Potter spots Draco, and Draco can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re shaking,” he says stupidly, crouching in front of Draco. Draco rolls his eyes.

“Great observation, Potter,” he grits out, pulls his knees in tighter. “Why the fuck are you here and how do you keep finding me?”

Potter’s eyes flash guiltily as he scratches the back on his head. “Well, you look like you needed help, and I want to help,” he says, cheeks growing pinker with every word.

“I don’t need your _help,_ Potter,” Draco scoffs. “First Pansy and Blaise and now you, of all people. I’m not some fucking damsel in distress. I’m fine, and besides, you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Potter replies, gaze heavy and serious. Draco could almost believe him.

“Why are you here?” It’s not really a question, not really a statement. He’s so tired.

“Can you stand?” Potter asks, tilting his head. Draco gives Potter a death glare. He completely ignored two of Draco’s questions. Draco considers trying to stand up, but right now he honestly doesn’t think it’s possible.

“No.”

Potter moves, and sits beside Draco against the wall, legs sprawled in front of him. Draco can feel his gaze intensely trailing his frame, and Draco just wishes the floor would open up under him, saving him from this ordeal. Potter moves beside him, and Draco can hear the rustle of fabric.

“Here,” Potter shoves his jumper in front of Draco.

“Pardon?” Draco scoffs, wrinkling his nose at it.

“You’re bloody freezing, Malfoy, take my jumper. It isn’t even cold in here,” Potter rolls his eyes. Draco just looks at him, somewhat mortified. “Oh, for the love of--Just take it!” 

At a feeble attempt to make a point, Draco rips the jumper from Potter’s hands. The fabric is soft and smooth against Draco’s fingers. He wrestles it on over his head, taking in great lungfuls of Potter’s scent, and fucking damn it. Of course. Potter smells _amazing._ Of course he does. The jumper blankets Draco, and he slowly feels the warmth left over from Potter invade his body. Draco relaxes into the sensation, sighing.

After a couple of moments, he chances a glance at Potter, who has the oddest look on his face. “What?”

Potter shakes his head, eyes darting away. “Nothing.”

A few more moments pass. Now that he isn’t shivering, Draco feels a little stronger. For whatever reason, tonight after throwing up he was simply depleted. He stumbled out of the stall and had to lean against the wall to prevent from falling. His vision was going black, and he couldn’t stand.

And of course, the bloody hero of the century had to come to his rescue.

“You don’t have to stay here. Don’t you have better things to do?” Draco mumbles into his arm, staring at the cracked tile in front of him.

“No, I want to stay here,” Potter replies, looking back at Draco. “It’s either this or having Hermione on my arse about some revision schedule she planned up.”

Draco rolls his eyes, not buying Potter’s excuse for a minute. He decides to humour him, instead. “You know, if you listened to her you might actually pass your N.E.W.T.’s this year. At the rate you're going you’ll have to come back for a Ninth year.”

Potter snorts. “Not bloody likely. I’ll have you know that classes for me are going extremely well this year!”

“Is that so?” Draco smirks. “Your exploding cauldron in Potions today suggests otherwise.”

“Who the bloody fuck knew there was a difference between mincing bat spleen and dicing it? I mean, _honestly._ It’s ridiculous--What?” Potter stops, lips quirks up in a smile as Draco can’t help but laugh. It’s only a small chuckle really, but Draco can feel some small weight lift off of his shoulders, if only temporarily.

“Mincing it releases more fluids from the spleen, while dicing allows the spleen to retain most of its fluids. We learnt this second year, you idiot,” Draco explains.

“You’re impossible, Malfoy,” Harry smiles, eyes growing soft.

“It’s not my fault you’re really that ignorant of basic instructions.”

And Draco doesn’t really know why, but he finds himself relaxing as Potter drones on and on about his classes, his pick-up Quidditch games, his stupid friends. It’s surprisingly grounding, and it’s so refreshing. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed this. Pansy and Blaise only ever talk to him earnestly about his eating habits, and every other conversation, every moment, is laced with this undertone of concern that Draco can’t stand.

Potter doesn’t do that, he just talks to Draco. Just gives him a conversation that’s actually a normal conversation. And Draco returns it. He tells Potter all about his schedule and workload. He finds he doesn’t do a lot besides studying and sleeping, after hearing what Potter gets up to. He just doesn’t have the energy for it. Except, well . . .

“But, what do you do besides studying? Honestly, you can’t just do that all day, you’d drive yourself insane.”

“No,” Draco replies, eyes darting away from Potter’s. “Well . . .”

“Well?” Potter’s eyebrows raise, and he pulls this smile that Draco can’t look away from.

“Well, I also do a bit of drawing in my freetime,” Draco admits, color rising to his cheeks.

“No way, really?” Potter’s eyebrows rise to nearly his hairline, and his mouth in hanging open ridiculously.

“I mean, they’re not very good, just some pencil and ink sketches. I don’t know why I even told you, honestly, it’s not as exciting as Quidditch, it’s just something I _do_ outside of studying, and you asked, anyways, and-- _What?_ ” Draco pauses. Potter’s smile has dropped slightly, but his eyes are glowing.

“You’re rambling,” Potter remarks.

“Well, you asked!”

“Can I see them?” Potter replies, ignoring Draco’s exasperation.

“They’re not very good, Potter, besides it’s only a hobby,” Draco shrugs, looking away.

The thing is, Draco loves drawing. He absolutely loves it. It’s creating something from your mind out of nothing. Creating pictures where pictures didn’t exist. And, well, he’s not terrible. But his drawings are personal, and the thought of showing someone else just to have them rejected is scary.

Potter gives him a level look. “All right,” he says. But Draco senses that this conversation isn’t over.

A short while later, Draco casts a Tempus, and gasps as it blinks after midnight. “Merlin, we’ve been sitting here for over an hour. I have a Runes assignment to do, you know.”

Potter stretches and stands up. Draco places a hand on the wall and uses it to steady himself as his pushes himself off of the ground.

“You’re seriously going to go back and--Hey, watch it,” Harry reaches out and catches Draco as Draco almost collapses. He blinks rapidly, his vision splotchy, head spinning. He takes a few breaths, waiting until the room stops spinning. He realizes a second too late that Potter’s arm is wrapped around his waist, hand holding onto his side with such strength, yet gentleness. Draco pulls away quickly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, avoiding Potter’s eye.

“Malfoy.” Draco can’t help but look at Potter from the tone of his voice. He looks scared, which is absurd. “Please let me help you.”

“I don’t need help, I’m fine.”

“Malfoy, you’ve got to know that’s not true,” Potter continues with surprising patience in his voice. Draco sighs. He just nearly collapsed again, and he’s so tired. And maybe . . . But no, he can’t think that. “I don’t want to watch you hurt yourself like this.”

“You don’t even like me, Potter,” Draco snorts, knowing full well that they’re past that. They just spent the past hour conversing like normal people. Like friends, almost.

“You honestly don’t think that,” Potter says, without a hair of a doubt in his voice. “Let’s just . . . We can just talk like this. That’s where we can start.”

Draco holds Potter’s gaze. It was really great, just talking to Potter without him throwing him these concerned glances every other second like Pansy, or being blunt and harsh like Blaise. He finds he doesn’t want to stop. The realization makes him agree before he can think. “All right.”

Draco watches Potter suppress what must be a ridiculous smile. “Great.”

They leave together, Draco being much too aware that Potter is keeping within catching distance. Halfway back to the Eighth year common room, Draco growls. “I’m not a fucking porcelain doll, Potter.”

Potter just laughs, backing off.

Back in the common room, Draco is happy to find Blaise and Pansy gone. He quietly magicks up a cup of coffee back in his dorm and returns to the common room to finish his Runes assignment in peace. Potter is gone by the time he gets back.

It isn’t until he’s about to go to sleep that he realizes he’s still wearing Potter’s jumper.

Maybe he’ll just keep it, for the time being, until Potter asks for it back.


	2. Chapter 2

“You look happy,” Hermione hums over her teacup the following morning, regarding Harry.

“Maybe I am happy?” Harry raises an eyebrow. “Ever think of that?”

“Oh no, he _is_ happy,” Ron coos, slathering jam on a slice of toast.

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes at his friends. He spots a blond head down the table, gingerly drinking a cup of coffee as he listens to Parkinson.

“I know that look,” Seamus leans forward, grinning. “Who is the lucky girl seeing the great Harry Potter?”

Harry can at least, honestly, laugh at that. “Oh my God, there is no girl!”

“Oh please, that is most definitely the ‘I’ve got a crush’ face!” Dean waggles his eyebrows.

“Harry, is there a girl?” Ron grins.

“ _No!_ ” Harry laughs. “No girl!”

The teasing continues, but it doesn’t affect Harry’s spirits. Malfoy agreed to let Harry help, or at least let him continue to talk. It’s a start, Harry thinks. Does he know what he’s going to do? No, but at least Malfoy isn’t yelling and him anymore. In fact, Harry actually, surprisingly, enjoyed talking with Malfoy about mundane nothings. He was so easy to talk to. It was refreshing. Sometimes Ron and Hermione could be suffocating, with Hermione’s keen sense of somehow being able to know everything Harry thought and Ron’s tactlessness. He loved them so much, but together they could be a lot.

And, well, if he thought Malfoy looked adorable in his jumper, then that’s just an objective opinion. It doesn’t mean Harry has a crush, he’s not a fourteen year old schoolgirl. It’s just that Malfoy’s long pale hair spilling over that lavender jumper was rather beautiful, and the purple complimented his skin tone, and the jumper was definitely too big on him and well, those kinds of things are endearing, but it doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could see that, is all. Harry’s not blind.

And he’s not even going to think about why the knowledge that Malfoy still has that jumper spreads a wonderful warmth low in his belly.

But, that aside, Harry isn’t just happy. He’s also scared. Malfoy looked awful, shivering and frigid on the floor, the circles under his eyes stark against his ghostly face. It was barely chilly in that bathroom, and Harry thinks he is starting to understand Malfoy’s physical condition. He couldn’t even stand up, and nearly collapsed when he’d tried. What Harry couldn’t understand was Malfoy’s mental condition.

Malfoy must know how unhealthy he is, he somehow can’t see how skinny he is. It didn’t make any sense! Why someone would throw up what they eat, or not eat at all, for what? To be skinny? To have control? Malfoy was awfully skinny and it was obvious that he’d lost control, to be in that state. 

What scared Harry even more was how much longer he could go like that. If Harry couldn’t help Malfoy quickly, then Malfoy was going to die. He is literally, slowly killing himself, and doesn’t even realize. Harry needed to get through to him quickly, needed to get him to eat and keep it down and not freak out.

But how?

Harry ponders this as he watches Malfoy pour another cup of coffee, his good mood dissipating.

~~~~~

The following night, Harry is studying in the common room when he notices Malfoy leave. Unlike before, Malfoy made sure to catch his eye first. Harry glances towards Parkinson and Zabini who are busy discussing something fiercely, heads bowed together.

Harry gives it a good ten minutes, then makes some excuse to Ron and Hermione to leave, oblivious to Hermione’s gaze trailing him before flitting to where Malfoy had been sitting.

He wanders to the same bathroom Malfoy had gone to the other night, a decent walk away. Harry probably wouldn’t have figured that Malfoy had gone here if he hadn’t had his Marauder’s Map, and was thankful when Malfoy didn’t push how Harry had found him. This time, when he slides in, Malfoy is just sitting on a bench near the sinks, one leg stretched across the marble surface, leafing through a leatherbound book, pencil in hand. Harry lets out a sigh of relief he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

At Harry’s entrance, Malfoy looks up, somewhat surprised. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Well, I did say I wanted to talk, didn’t I?” Harry smiles.

“Yes, but, perhaps you’d changed your mind,” Malfoy looks down, snapping his book shut.

“To be honest, I didn’t know if you really wanted to talk to me again, but I figured, well, since you got my attention before leaving maybe you did.”

“Well, I do,” Malfoy smirks, swinging his leg down so Harry can sit. Harry does, trying to not be as awkward as possible.

“How was your day?” Harry settles on, knowing how lame it is. But they’ve got to start somewhere, right?

Malfoy snorts. “Seriously?” Harry rolls his eyes in return, and Malfoy goes silent for a few moments before answering. “Same old. Dragged through classes, nothing interesting happened. Did some sketching before starting homework. Deflected Pansy and Blaise’s stupid questions, and now I’m sitting here,” Malfoy’s eyes slide back to Harry’s. “You?”

“I went to class, but didn’t do my homework, so you’re already ahead of me there. Then I paced around my room wondering if it I was going crazy, meeting with Draco Malfoy behind my friends’ backs. So, same old.”

Malfoy laughs, making Harry’s stomach do a flip. “So, Granger and Weasley don’t know about this? It’s like a love affair,” Malfoy drawls, raising an eyebrow.

Harry scoffs, averting his eyes. _Love affair, Merlin_. “Shut up. And no, I didn’t tell them.”

“Oh,” Malfoy sniffs. “I thought you told them everything.”

“I do, but this doesn’t just concern me, and I didn’t think you’d want me telling my friends about it,” Harry explains, guiltily ignoring how he _did_ tell them about walking in on Malfoy throwing up that one time. But, well, that was different.

“I used to tell Pansy and Blaise everything. I mean _everything,_ especially Pansy. She’s my best friend, basically a sister,” Malfoy sighs. “But lately, I can’t talk to her as easily. She and Blaise don’t really want to discuss anything other than what I eat. It’s awful.”

Harry’s heart is pounding like a drum against his ribcage. Malfoy just mentioned it, his eating habits. Should Harry press? Would that drive him away? What should he do? Why was Malfoy suddenly being so open?

~~~~~

Draco opens his mouth before he can stop himself. Merlin, why was Potter so easy to talk to? He completely blames Pansy and Blaise. He’d normally be telling this kind of stuff to them, but he can’t do that anymore, can he? Especially not when it’s about them. Normally it’d be about Potter. And now he can feel Potter staring at him, can practically feel him think.

“We can talk about whatever you want,” Potter says, finally. And something about that answer, the fucking therapy in it, snaps Draco’s nerves.

“Why are you trying to help me, Potter? Why do you want to talk to me?” Draco spits out, starting to regret coming. “Are you just curious or something? Because I don’t want to be your next project or whatever it is that gets you off--”

“Project?” Potter scoffs. “What are you on about?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Potter? You have this thing about helping others. I don’t want to be that to you. Merlin, is that really why you’re talking to me right now?” Draco huffs out, scooting away from Potter on the bench. He couldn’t believe he almost let himself trust Potter.

“What?” Potter retorts, sounding genuinely surprised. “No, Malfoy, I’m talking to you because you’re easy to talk to! Fuck, Malfoy. I like talking to you, okay?”

“You’re easy to talk to, too,” Draco replies before he realizes what he’s saying. Potter visibly sags with relief. Draco sighs, trying to let that tension go.

They in silence for a few minutes. Draco thumbs open his sketchbook, flipping through the pages. Potter just watches his face.

“So, you can’t talk to Pansy anymore about some things?” Potter begins, hesitantly. Draco shuts his book slowly.

Maybe it’s the late hour, or the fact that Draco’s been more and more tired lately. Maybe it’s because he honestly can’t talk to Pansy and Blaise, but he needs to talk. The words are aching to come out. Maybe it’s because it’s Potter, who noticed and asked.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s my eating.” Or maybe it is all of those things combined that explain why Draco just said that, honestly and openly, for the first time. He inhales sharply, waiting for Potter to react. To look at him with some stupid look of concern like Pansy or to get angry like Blaise. When nothing comes, he chances a glance at Potter. His expression is open, chin resting on his arms, which are folded over his knee on the bench, and he’s just looking at Draco, waiting for him to continue. Draco could cry right then and there, because it’s been so long since someone has looked at him like that, letting him talk without concern or judgment, especially when he brings up that topic, one he tries to avoid at all costs. Pansy and Blaise will always bring it up anyways, Draco never gets to, never wants to. Until now.

“It’s my eating,” he repeats, swallowing. “Ever since a few weeks after the trials, they haven’t stopped with this underlying worry, you know? Like every single time they talk to me, I can just tell that they are waiting for an opportunity to leap in and try to fix me, or something. Fuck!” Draco yells, running a hand through his hair. “I hate it. I can’t just have a conversation with them anymore! It’s not even a new thing! Why is this coming up now? I can’t bloody well stop now!” Draco scoffs, feeling like the flood waters that have been building and building have finally been released. He hasn’t ever been able to tell anyone all of this, everything.

“I’ve been controlling what I eat like this since third year. Well, not exactly. Third year was when I started learning control and eating less at meals, which continued on until around fifth year, when I’d begun being able to skip meals in the day. I could go a while without having to eat, and I was becoming thinner, more beautiful. Sixth year, fuck that was an awful year, I started eating a lot out of stress, and that’s when I’d learnt how to purge. I could eat, but it didn’t affect me so long as I was able to throw it back up. After the war, I was able to control that urge to eat again, and if I’d slipped, I could throw it back up. But, Merlin, it doesn’t even matter does it?” Draco deflates, letting his head thunk against the bench back. He feels so empty, he can’t believe he actually told someone all of that. Told _Potter_ all of that.

“Malfoys live up to a lot of standards, but beauty is of the utmost importance. My mother was always giving me tricks to look thinner. My father constantly told me how fat I was. I could never marry looking how I did. I needed to be leaner, more muscular, more anything that wasn’t what I was. I was raised to be like this, and now it’s all I have left, after the war. No one will want me, but at least I can try to be beautiful. But, I’m a failure at that too. I’m still not lean enough, not beautiful enough. Too fat, too ugly, too un-Malfoy like. It shouldn’t even matter,” Draco finishes, feeling like he’d just run a marathon. “It shouldn’t even matter.”

Well, fuck, Potter wanted to talk, so Draco talked. Draco breathes into the silence that envelops the room after. Not daring to look at Potter. It felt great to finally get to say, but now he isn’t so sure. That was a fuckton to just drop on someone.

So, when Potter essentially tackles him a moment later, Draco is beyond startled that he lets out a shrill yell. Potter’s strong arms wrap around him, nearly knocking Draco off the bench, and Draco can only sit there stunned as Harry Potter hugs him, burying his head into Draco’s neck.

Potter pulls back suddenly, holding Draco’s shoulders at arms length, like Draco was the one who hugged Potter. He has this ridiculous look on his face, like he can’t believe he just did that, and it’s perhaps the best reaction Draco could imagine. It’s just so _Potter_ that Draco laughs. And laughs and laughs.

It’s nothing like the few chuckles Potter had been able to get out of him before. He can’t stop, he can’t even breathe.

Then he realizes Potter is laughing hard too, which only makes him laugh _harder._ He’s clutching Potter’s arm with one hand, the other holding onto his ribs. It hurts, how hard he’s laughing.

After a brilliant moment, they calm down. But then they catch each other’s eye, and lose it again. Draco finally is able to stop, and wipes a tear off his cheek. “I’ve never told anybody all of that before.”

Potter smiles at him. It’s _almost_ a sad smile. Draco can’t be bothered to care. “I’m glad you told me.”

“This is proof that you’re easy to talk to,” Draco sighs. “But yeah, I can’t talk to Pansy or Blaise. They can’t seem to get past it.”

“It’s because they care about you,” Potter insists.

“Of course they fucking care about me. I just wish they’d bloody stop for two seconds,” Draco replies, crossing his arms. “Maybe that’s why it’s easy to tell you this stuff because I know you don’t care about me.”

“That’s not true,” Potter replies. It’s nearly a whisper, and Draco realizes that Potter didn't actually mean to say that out loud as Potter worries his bottom lip. “Er, well . . .”

“Yeah?” Draco jumps in, cursing the tremble in his voice, not so sure why those words hit him so hard.

“Well, I do care about you,” Potter insists, eyes and voice hardening, growing in conviction as he goes. “And, Merlin, I hate seeing you suffering. I can’t stand it. You’re Draco Malfoy. You have too much pride and make yourself seen and heard and make sure no one can forget you, whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It doesn’t make sense that you’re suffering, you’re too much of a fucking Malfoy for that. And I hate seeing you suffer, _especially_ when you’re doing it to yourself, so yeah. Maybe I do care about you, Draco,” Potter finishes, jaw set and eyes gleaming.

_You’re too much of a fucking Malfoy for that._

Draco is stunned, and is quite literally speechless. This was too much.

“So, fuck, maybe I don’t care like Parkinson or Zabini might, since we haven't been friends for life,” Potter continues with less fire when Draco doesn’t speak. “It’s more of an ‘I can barely recognize you’ kind of care. Because this doesn’t make sense to me, so I want to help you, you know, reach your full Malfoy potential.”

Full Malfoy potential. Draco could laugh, because that’s what he’s trying to do. He wants to be a a Malfoy, beautiful and perfect. He doesn’t know what Potter is talking about.

“You’re insane, Potter,” Draco mutters, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You called me Draco,” he realizes.

“Yeah, I did,” Potter sighs. “Sorry.”

“No,” Draco says before he can stop himself. “That’s . . . That’s fine.”

Because, well, Potter saying Draco’s name like that was really something else.

“Okay,” Potter replies, lips twisting up into a smile.

The electricity in the air slowly dissipates, leaving Draco exhausted. They chat a bit more about safer topics, winding down the tension until the conversion is broken periodically by yawns from both sides. Draco watches Potter stand and stretch as they’re about to leave, and can’t stop himself.

“Harry.” Potter nearly trips over nothing, and gives Draco the strangest look. “I . . . Thank you. For, you know. Letting me talk to you.”

Potter lets out the biggest smile, and it makes Draco go crazy.

“Anytime.”

~~~~~

Harry begrudgingly agreed to study with Ron and Hermione in the library before dinner and somehow got there before they did. Probably too busy snogging in the common room, Harry thinks. Well, he’s here, he might as well try to start.

The problem is, this Potions theory doesn’t make any sense, and he can’t fucking focus because across the library, sitting by himself is Draco Malfoy. His hair is pulled up to a very messy bun, but it somehow looks endearing on him. He is pouring over his textbook. Harry watches as a piece of hair slips from his bun and into his face. Draco tucks it behind his ear with his pinky.

Fuck it, Ron and Hermione are late and Harry can’t focus anyway. He grabs his book and approaches Draco.

“Hey,” Harry says, sliding into the seat across Draco. Draco startles out of his focus. He gives Harry a level look, then looks around him, holding out his hands as if to say _Can’t you see where we are?_

“What?” He snaps.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Draco lets out a groan. “Are you really that thick? We’re not exactly public friends, Potter. People are staring.”

Harry looks around to find the other students look away quickly, sneaking covert glances.

“I don’t think I understand the Potions theory that we reviewed today,” Harry says, ignoring the glances.

“Not surprising,” Draco raises one eyebrow, then makes to pretend like Harry isn’t there.

“Can you look over what I’ve written, to see if it makes sense?” Harry shoves his paper on top of Draco’s book. Draco scoffs, but Harry catches the edges of a smile.

“Where’s Granger? Doesn’t she usually do all of your assignments for you?”

“She and Ron are running late, and well, you’re good at Potions, aren’t you?” Harry smirks, tapping the paper.

“You flatter me, Potter,” he drawls, picking up the parchment delicately, scanning it. “This isn’t that bad, actually.”

“Gee, thanks. It’s the ‘actually’ that does it,” Harry returns.

Draco rolls his eyes and leans forward, showing the paper to Harry. Draco picks up his quill and goes over with Harry what isn’t clear and where he’s contradicting himself, explaining the theory in parts as he goes along. Harry nods, surprised at how easy Draco makes it sound.

Draco is a good teacher. He speaks with patience, and answers in a way that actually makes sense when Harry asks a question. It’s much different than Hermione, who explains things in words that don’t make sense, like it’s obvious. Draco makes some changes to Harry’s paper, but they are changes that help Harry find the correct answer for himself instead of just giving it to him. His method of explaining just clicks, and Harry finds he understands.

“So, keeping in mind the properties of Horn of Bicorn, can you see how they would counter certain properties of Lacewing flies, but enhance others? Making them the most compatible for certain brews?” Draco asks, underlining certain words in Harry’s paper. “You’ve nearly got it here, but it can be clearer.”

“I, actually yes,” Harry replies, smiling. “Draco, you’re really great at teaching.”

Draco puts the quill down, giving Potter an indistinguishable look. “I’ve always loved Potions. I’ve always thought about working to become a Potions Master and maybe begin teaching once I achieve that.”

Harry could totally see that. He opens his mouth to say so, but notices Ron and Hermione have sat down at the table where Harry’d left his things. Draco notices, and looks over.

“Guess they’re done snogging, then,” Draco smirks.

“Merlin help me,” Harry laughs, standing. “Thanks, Draco.”

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” Harry leaves, feeling like he’s floating as he sits down with his friends.

They’re staring at him like he grew an extra head.

“Harry, what the fuck did he do to you?” Ron growls, dead serious.

“What?”

“Why were you talking to Malfoy? Did he slip you something?”

Harry scoffs. “He’s good at Potions and I didn’t understand a word of what Professor Beane said today, and you guys were late, so,” Harry shrugs. “I asked him.”

“So this means I won’t be writing your introduction?” Hermione smiles.

“No, you won’t be. He actually made sense. I mean, well. It was _weird_ ,” Harry shakes his head. It was weird, but that was Draco. Surprising Harry every day. “But I think I understand it now.”

“Thank God,” Hermione huffs.

Ron just shakes his head. “Well, I’ll stick to asking Hermione for help. I’m not a traitor.”

“You’re acting like I cheated on Hermione by asking Malfoy a question,” Harry laughs.

Hermione hides a smile. Ron looks scandalised. “Well, you did!”

“Maybe you should ask Malfoy, Ron, take the burden off of me.”

“Not in this lifetime, ‘Mione,” Ron huffs. “Wait, _burden?_ ”

“Anyways, Potions! Let’s get back to Potions,” Hermione claps her hands. “You know I love you Ron,” Hermione coos, planting a light kiss on his cheek. Ron goes beet red. Harry sighs, looking back towards Draco, who is buried in his work like Harry’d never interrupted.

~~~~~

Harry groans. His Tempus is blinking a stupid number at him. There is no way it’s four in the morning. He’s been rolling around in bed for the past hour after being woken up from a nightmare. He was hoping it was at least six or seven. But four?

There was nothing for it. Harry kicks the blankets back and fumbles around his nightstand for his glasses. He shoves them on after he rubs the sleep from his eyes. He pulls on joggers and a light hoodie, figuring maybe he could do some homework in the common room if he’s up this early. He grabs his Defence book and starts down the stairs.

He pauses at the door when he sees blond hair spilling over the sofa’s armrest. Harry watches, not wanting to interrupt. Draco is cuddled in the corner of the sofa, balancing that leather book against his thighs. He can’t see what Draco is drawing, but he’s sketching fiercely, the sound of charcoal on paper scratching away.

Harry takes a few steps forward, trying to make them loud to alert Draco of his presence. Draco snaps his book shut and sits up quickly, looking at Harry.

“Oh it’s you,” he says, voice scratchy from the hour. “You startled me.”

“Sorry." Harry walks around the sofa to sit opposite Malfoy, drawing his legs up under him. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“No,” Draco sighs.

“Me neither.”

Draco opens his book again, scratching away at the page as Harry cracks open a textbook, trying to focus on the reading. He makes it farther than he thought he would, with Draco sitting beside him being all distracting. After a short while, another distraction eats at his attention.

He’s hungry.

Harry doesn’t quite know what to do. Should he leave for the kitchens? Invite Malfoy along? Would that be rude? Would Malfoy snap at him?

Harry shuts his book. He’s a Gryffindor. Go hard or go home. He stands, drawing Malfoy’s attention.

“Come with me to the kitchens?” Harry asks before he can talk himself out of it.

He holds his breath. Draco’s eyebrows pull together and he chews on his bottom lip, just looking at Harry. Harry shifts his weight back and forth on his feet. Then, Draco closes his book. “Okay.”

Draco stands, and Harry leads him on the long walk to the kitchens, neither of them talking, and for the first time since they started talking, the silence is awkward. It’s _so_ awkward. Harry wants to fill it, but he is aware that Malfoy is aware of the elephant in the castle. So he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe, in this situation, Draco should have control. He should be the first to speak, if he wants. So Harry waits.

Harry tickles the pear, and the painting lets him in. Not surprisingly, the House Elves are there in a flash. Harry looks around to see that they are preparing breakfast for the castle. It’s an organized frenzy.

One House Elf stops in front of him, Minsy, if he remembers, bowing low. “We is welcoming Mister Harry Potter and Mister Draco Malfoy.”

“Hi, thank you,” Harry replies awkwardly. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. Draco wraps his arms around himself next to Harry. “Um, I’m here for some early breakfast?”

“Right away, Mister Harry Potter!” Minsy squeaks, disappearing with a crack. Harry knows the routine. He gives Draco a weak smile and brings him to a seat at one of the tables in the room. They sit and Minsy is back with a loud crack.

“Minsy is serving you Minsy’s favourite!” She squeaks. “French toast! Is Mister Harry Potter liking coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Is Mister Draco Malfoy wanting anything?” Minsy asks, bowing low.

“Er, just coffee, please,” he mumbles awkwardly. Minsy disappears. Harry suppresses a smile. Awkward Draco is much too endearing. He feels a pang of worry, however, as Draco isn’t eating. He’s not surprised, just. Well, he can hope, can’t he?

Minsy reappears a moment later with two large mugs of coffee. Draco’s black and Harry’s more cream and sugar than coffee. Harry tucks into his breakfast and Draco watches, sipping his coffee. 

The French toast is delicious. Golden and soft, filled with cream and banana. Harry drowns it in syrup, and it’s just perfect.

“That was my favorite as a kid,” Draco says quietly after a few minutes. Harry stops, fork halfway to his mouth, surprised. Draco isn’t looking at him, instead staring into his mug of coffee, which remains magically full. The circles under his eyes are more prominent in the stark glow of the kitchen.

“French toast?” That must be what Draco is referring to. Draco nods, catching Harry’s eye.

“We used to have it every Sunday,” Draco continues, looking away quickly. “The House Elves hated Sundays. My mother always insisted that she make it for me herself. Merlin knows why, but I loved that. It made it more special. The Elves freaked out every time, the Mistress of the Manor in the kitchen,” he laughs softly to himself, looking at some point past Harry’s shoulder.

“She stopped after my first term at Hogwarts. I suppose that’s when my appearance started mattering more.”

“When I was a kid, I hated making French Toast,” Harry admits, surprising himself. Draco looks at him, confused. “You know I grew up with muggle relatives?”

Draco nods.

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t exactly call us a happy family. I wasn’t treated well. I was raised cooking their meals and cleaning their messes. I didn’t have a proper bedroom until I was eleven, and that was only because my Uncle Vernon thought I’d blow up the house or something if he’d kept me in my closet. I don’t know,” Harry sighs.

“Closet?” Draco asks, looking appalled. “I don’t suppose you’re exaggerating?”

“No,” Harry replies, finding some off relief at the fact that Draco isn’t looking at him with pity or concern. He thinks he finally understands what Draco means about talking to Parkinson and Zabini. “My bedroom was the closet under the stairs.”

“Merlin,” Draco shudders, looking pissed instead of upset, like Harry expected. Harry finds himself loving it. “You’re Harry Potter! Not a fucking House Elf, what the hell, Potter?”

“Well--”

“They abused you! That’s abuse” Draco scoffs. “That’s terrible.”

Harry catches his eye again. No pity, no sadness. Just anger and fire lighting his eyes.

Wow.

Harry resists the urge to point out that Draco's parents raising him to starve himself was abuse, too. Now is not the time.

“I know,” Harry agrees. “And, well, French toast was my cousin’s absolute favorite. My cousin Dudley. He was my first bully. I didn’t think it was possible to hate anyone more than I hated him. Well, until I met you.”

Draco at least looks offended.

“Seriously, you were the worst.”

“You weren’t much better,” Draco replies, pointing. “And I was a little shit, I know, but all I knew back then was that I tried to be your friend. I wanted so badly to be your friend, then before I could even try, Weasley insulted my name and you defended that! I was shocked.”

“What?” Harry replies, surprised. That’s not how he remembers it . . . But, well. Maybe.

“Oh yes, I remember it very clearly. It was the most humiliating thing, to be insulted like that in front of my friends, then to have you reject me before I could properly introduce myself. I wanted to be your friend so badly that year. Luckily I got over it. Er, kind of. I guess it turned into more of a spite thing after that.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“But, well, at least we’re past that? We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Harry remarks, smiling at Draco. His scowl dissipates, and he returns Harry’s smile slowly.

“We’re friends,” he says, grinning. “Yeah, I think so.”

Harry smiles, taking another bite of his breakfast. Draco watches the movement. And Harry, well, they’re really in it now, so he isn’t scared to ask.

“Do you . . .?” Harry beckons, offering Draco his fork. Keeping it light. Draco has all the control here.

~~~~~

This time it’s different. Blaise isn’t giving him any of his looks. Pansy isn’t begging him. He can say no and he’ll know it’ll be fine. He can say yes and not be met with Pansy’s tears. There is no pressure. He’s in control.

This time it’s different, which maybe is why Draco finds himself saying, “Yes.”

Harry’s eyes flash with something, but it’s nothing like Pansy or Blaise. Draco takes the fork.

He wants to eat. He wants to, and he’s in control of it. He can do this.

Draco saws off a corner and pierces it with the fork, feeling Harry holding his breath as his eats it. Draco wants to laugh, Harry looks ridiculous.

“It’s not as good as my mother’s,” Draco sniffs. “But it’ll do,” he says. He can feel the single bite sitting in his stomach. He feels flashes of guilt and disgust, but they pass as quickly as they come as he focuses instead on Harry’s green gaze. He takes another bite.

Harry smiles. “I won’t tell the Elves you said that.”

And it’s not a lot, but for now, it’s enough.

An hour later, they leave and go their separate ways in the dorm. And it’s hard, because Draco wants to get rid of those small bites he took. He can feel them so plainly with him the entire day, but he was in control when he ate them and he damn well isn’t going to let go of that.

And that night, when Harry catches up with him for a second in the hall, raising his eyebrows in the unspoken question, Draco can’t help it if he likes the thrill of Harry’s ridiculous smile when he tells him he kept it down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever written a chapter with both extremes of angst and fluff as this one. This was also my favorite chapter to write. This was _also_ supposed to be the lat chapter, but as I wrote, the characters got a mind of their own and unplanned events happened, and here we are! So now this is not the last chapter!  
> Again, no beta, so sorry if there's any misspelled words or weird grammar or format things. I'll fix them as I notice them! Enjoy <3

Without ever formally discussing it, they settle into that routine. Early in the morning, Harry and Draco meet and walk to the kitchens together. They make that table theirs. After the first morning, Draco doesn’t eat, and Harry doesn’t press. Harry had, naively, hoped that would be it. That after the first morning Draco would magically start eating breakfast again. Draco always brings down his sketchbook and draws away as they chat, if they talk at all. Sometimes they just spend time together; Harry lost in homework, Draco lost in homework or drawing. Harry enjoys eating whatever the House Elves bring him. Sometimes, Draco steals a miniscule bite. That always makes Harry smile. Draco loves that smile.

Slowly Draco starts taking milk with his coffee.

And they still meet many nights, always in that same bathroom. Sometimes, if Draco ate that morning, he’d be anxious. Harry could tell, and would try to find topics to distract him, calm him down. Keep it down. It was difficult, because Harry still couldn’t make much sense of what Draco would tell him, but Harry tried. It was tiring. To keep trying to be understanding when nothing about it made sense.

Sometimes Draco would go off, and Harry didn’t even know what caused it. He’d start panicking about the smallest amount of food, or something one of them said would send him retreating into himself. That, Harry could work with because he did that, too, whenever the topic of the War or the year leading up to it came up. He and Draco never breached that topic, however, so Harry never got that way with Draco. Ron and Hermione knew to avoid it.

And that’s another thing. Harry hasn’t told them about his friendship with Draco. The closest they get to see is when Harry has a Potions question. He always goes to Draco, and they play it off. Draco gets fake frustrated with Harry, and they tease each other back and forth. In class, they sometimes hash it out, but they can tell the other doesn’t mean it. In fact, they turn it into a kind of game.

“Your head is so inflated that I can’t believe you haven’t floated away. All that air in your head. That ego of yours.”

“My ego? You’re one to talk Malfoy! Always so uptight. I could shove a lump of coal up your arse and have a diamond the next day.”

“You want to shove coal up my arse, Potter? I didn’t know you were so kinky,” Malfoy retorts, one eyebrow riding dangerously, Zabini snickering by his side.

Harry open his mouth to reply, but Ron grabs his arm. “Let it go, Harry, Malfoy’s just trying to wind you up,” Ron says, sneering.

“I’ll say,” Harry grumbles.

But, minutes later, one will catch the other’s eye and they’ll share a secret smile.

Things with Draco are going so well. Harry isn't sure if he’s recovering, per se, but he’s improving, little by little. Whether it’s milk and sugar with coffee or a couple bites of Harry’s breakfast. Maybe it’s just talking, maybe it’s the fact that Harry never pressures, maybe it’s the fact that they have more in common than they thought, that there’s some connection. Harry is starting to believe Malfoy wants to recover, which is why today is such a shock.

~~~~~

Draco would rather be anywhere but here, but he supposes he can’t exactly blame Pansy or Blaise. Since he started meeting with Harry every morning, he hasn’t made any appearances at dinner.

Pansy dragged him here. Draco did not want a scene. Pansy and Blaise were experts at causing a scene, and he wouldn’t put it past Pansy to make true to her promise of telling his father he’d slept with a muggle if he didn’t eat dinner, the cunning bitch.

Draco knew that they were worried. It was in the nervous tone of Blaise’s remarks and the fierceness in Pansy’s glare. He ate Harry’s toast that morning, with jam and everything, which was already too much, but Draco was intent on keeping that down. So he couldn’t be mad at them, and he wasn’t about to tell them he’d actually been secretly meeting with Harry Potter every morning, stealing bites of his breakfast. So, to them, he’d not had anything in days.

He thought they should look on the bright side. He’d not purged in days, either.

“It’s one meal Draco,” Blaise sighs once Draco’s finished. Draco honestly doesn’t think he’s physically capable of eating a whole meal and keeping it down, because his stomach hurts. It was too much, on top of what he ate that morning. He’d not had that much food in his stomach in months.

It was a lot of food.

Draco keeps playing with a loose strand of hair, trying to keep himself distracted. 

“It’s not going to make you fat, Draco,” Pansy whines, giving him a one armed hug.

“That’s . . . I don’t even know what to say to you,” Draco says. He tilts his head, peering down the table to where Harry is sitting. He wishes he could just walk over to Harry, grab his hand and bring him somewhere that isn’t here, so he can stop thinking about what he just did and how it’s going to stick there and, fuck you, Pansy, make him fat. 

Harry is laughing with his gaggle of Gryffindors. Draco holds until Harry’s eyes slide to his.

Draco looks away, utterly ashamed. Then he becomes ashamed that he’s ashamed, and isn’t _that_ just dandy? Draco is just so well-adjusted. And frustrated. He knows Pansy and Blaise won’t leave his side. It’s hopeless.

Or so Draco thinks, because after dinner, a miracle happens. As Draco, Pansy, and Blaise leave, Professor McGonagall calls to Pansy. Something about a detention she’d skipped, and in the second she and Blaise are distracted, cursing under their breath, Draco slips into the crowd. 

He was sure they wouldn’t let him out of their sights, especially after dinner. Draco could kiss McGonagall.

Draco pushes through the crowd, his stomach rolling. He makes it to his bathroom unbothered. He rips off his tie and sinks into the bench, burying his face in his knees, gasping for breath. He’d not even realized he was panicking until now.

~~~~~

Harry isn’t listening to word of what Neville is saying. He’s too busy watching Draco on the verge of panic as he slips away behind Parkinson and Zabini. Harry follows his blond head as he snakes through the students, disappearing.

Harry had been very surprised at dinner. He’d watched as Draco ate a proper meal, for the first time all year. But, it didn’t seem right. Parkinson and Zabini were on top of him the entire time. Harry should have guessed. It wasn’t his choice.

“I’ll see you guys later, yeah?” Harry calls to Ron and Hermione. They give him a confused look as he disappears.

“Where is he going _now_ , ‘Mione?”

Harry is the first back to the dormitory. Quickly as he can, he confirms Draco’s whereabouts on the Map, heart sinking. He’s in their bathroom. Harry is out of the dormitory before anyone else even returns, and he tries not to run. It’s a close thing.

He reaches the door, opening it just short of a slam, immediately spotting Draco, pulled into a ball on the bench, hair spilling across his back. For a moment, Harry is reminded of the first time he found Malfoy in the bathroom, when Malfoy thought Harry would tell the entire school what he found there.

“Draco,” Harry sits next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Draco startles and pulls away.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses. Right, Harry could kick himself. He forgot how Draco can’t do contact when he’s like this.

“I’m sorry.” Draco’s breath is coming quickly and his eyes are unfocused. Harry knows what a panic attack looks like, and Draco is the embodiment of it right now. Harry just sits next to Draco, knowing fuck all of what to do in this situation. Harry’s had panic attacks, but contact helped him and grounded him. Ron and Hermione knew how to deal with Harry when he’d get panic attacks over the summer, and he knew how to help theirs. But Draco is different, and Harry doesn’t know what to do.

After a painfully long amount of time, in which Harry can’t believe Draco hasn’t blacked out from sheer lack of oxygen, Draco’s breath evens out until it’s back to normal. Draco is looking at a spot on the tile in front of him. Harry thinks the worst is over.

“I need to throw up,” Draco says calmly. Harry’s heart leaps to his throat as it slowly dawns on him that the worst has yet to come.

“What? Draco, no you don’t,” Harry insists. Draco was doing better. Harry thought he was helping.

“I do, Harry, I really can’t do this,” Draco struggles to his feet. “Please, get out,” Draco says, deflating. Harry’s heart could crumble at the pure lack of emotion in Draco’s voice. He’s not angry, just empty.

“Draco,” Harry starts, forgetting himself as he reaches for Draco’s shoulder to stop him.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco pulls away, and Harry regrets everything because, like a flash, the panic is back. Draco is like an animal. “Harry, get out of here!”

“No! Draco, you’re not going to throw up,” Harry insists.

“Well, sorry to fucking disappoint you, Potter, just _get out_ ,” Draco pushes Harry back when he takes a step forward. Harry startles, and it’s much too much like the first time Harry witnessed this. Harry can’t move. Draco throws open the stall door, and Harry can’t fucking believe he is letting this happen _again_ as Draco falls to his knees, pushes his sleeve up, reaches far back into his mouth and convulses.

The time, however, the sight hits Harry like a tidal wave, and it throws him into action. He crouches next to Draco, watching in this awful state of helplessness. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Harry runs his fingers through Draco’s hair, pulling it out of his face as Draco retches again, The sound of his sick hitting the water hits Harry painfully, and Harry puts a hand to his mouth to prevent from yelling, and he feels tears there. He’s crying. He runs his other hand up and down Draco’s back, trying to help. Anything to help.

Draco purges until Harry knows there can’t possibly be anything left in his stomach. When he’s finished, Draco flushes, then falls backwards, his clean hand presses over Harry’s, which has landed on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s crying, too.

Draco releases Harry’s hand, instead reaching around, pulling Harry to him. Harry let’s him, wants him to, even. Harry wraps his arms around Draco, holding him strongly. Draco’s sobs wrack his body and he muffles his cries in Harry’s shirt, and it hits Harry that he’s in far over his head.

Draco has a disorder, a medical disorder that Harry has no business in trying to fix. Harry feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world, God, he is so naive. He can slay a Dark Lord, he can save the world, but he can’t save Draco from an eating disorder. It’s an evil Harry can’t see, buried inside of Draco’s mind. He doesn’t know what to do, how to fight this, and he feels utterly, completely, helpless for the first time in his life.

Harry holds Draco closer, and cries, rocking him back and forth until, slowly, together they calm down.

Somehow, they end up leaning against the stall wall, Draco curled up in Harry’s embrace. Harry just keeps running his hand up Draco’s back, into his hair and back down. Draco just breathes, holding onto Harry’s shirt. Harry realizes slowly, that despite their tangled mess, Draco’s kept his dirty hand from touching Harry. Harry wouldn’t even have cared at this point, and the realization of Draco thoughtfulness for him, even in a situation like this, hurts.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispers after forever. Harry looks down at the top of his head.

“You have nothing at all to be sorry for, Draco,” Harry sighs into Draco’s hair, wanting to fucking murder his parents. They did this to him, raising him like that. Harry knows that abuse doesn’t go away. He exhales the thought. Now is now the time for anger.

“I’m still sorry,” Draco says again. “I couldn’t eat dinner, Harry. Everyone else can do something so basic as eating a meal, but I can’t do it. I’m so sorry, I’m . . .” Draco takes a shuddering breath, burying his face back into Harry’s shirt.

“Shh, Draco,” Harry repeats over, trying not to cry.

Slowly, Draco pulls away, and Harry misses the weight, however little, of Draco in his arms. Harry takes him in. His hair is utterly ruined, tangled and frizzy and everywhere. His skin is sickly pale, but thankfully some color tints his cheeks again. Dark circles look like ink under his eyes, mixed with drying tears. He looks like a wreck, and Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He’s a mess, and Harry gets to see it. And, wow.

Draco is beautiful.

Harry realizes he’s staring and looks away before Draco notices. Draco casts a quiet Tempus and sighs.

“People will be in the common room,” he says. “I don’t think I can see anyone right now.”

“Let’s just start by cleaning up, yeah?” Harry suggests, hoping it’s the right thing.

Draco catches his eye and gives him a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah.”

Harry helps Draco to his feet. He’s so light. Harry knew he’d be light, but it’s honestly just sad at this point. Draco washes his face and casts cleaning spells around and Harry runs fingers through Draco’s hair, trying to fix it. Draco scoffs and pushes him away, raising an exasperated eyebrow at him. He pulls it back into a ponytail, twisting it into a knot so it stays without the use of a hair tie.

“That’s incredible,” Harry says, heart thudding against his chest.

“Practice, Potter. A lot of practice.”

“D-Do you practice doing your hair in front of the mirror?” Now it’s Harry’s turn to be exasperated. Draco’s cheeks grow pinker.

“Well, if you’ve got it, Potter, might as well do it,” he smirks, lighting Harry’s heart on fucking fire.

After Draco is back to looking semi-okay and Harry pulls himself together, it’s still early enough that students would be in the common room.

“Well,” Draco sighs, “I have homework to finish anyways.”

Harry turns around in the doorway of the bathroom, catching the tension in Draco’s features and the nerves in his eyes. Harry reaches towards Draco.

“Come here.”

Draco, like magic, reaches back towards Harry, entwining his fingers in Harry’s. Harry pulls him out of the bathroom, letting the door shut behind them.

~~~~~

Draco’s day was fucking destroyed, ripped apart and torn to shreds. Harry Potter just had to turn it around.

He feels so disappointed in himself, because he knows he disappointed Harry, even if Harry insisted that wasn’t true. Harry. As he sat there, curled up in Harry’s arms, Harry’s hand running over his back, into his hair, Draco realized he never wanted Harry to let go. He could stay like that forever.

So when Harry sensed Draco’s hesitation, standing in that bathroom door, and reached to Draco, Draco reached back and clung to Harry, never wanting to let go.

He stays close the walk back to the common room, unbelieving, promising he’ll do everything he can to not disappoint Harry again.

Draco places a hand on the doorknob to the common room, stealing the moment before he releases Harry’s hand. He throws a smile over his shoulder, a quiet thanks, as he opens the door. Harry looks reluctant to let go, much to Draco’s pleasure.

Without Harry’s warmth, Draco realizes he’s cold. Resisting the urge to look at Potter due to their unfortunate public surroundings, Draco moves to the stairs, ignoring Pansy and Blaise trying to catch his eye from the corner. He finds Harry’s jumper in his drawers and slides it on. It’s just too long on him, sleeves falling to his fingertips, enveloping him in Harry’s scent, and it’s close enough. Draco grabs his homework as the dorm’s door slams open.

“Draco,” Pansy says severely. Draco turns to look at her. She wrinkles her nose. “I . . . What are you wearing?”

“A jumper,” he sniffs. “What?”

“Whatever,” she sighs. “Blaise is pissed at you.”

“Let him be pissed, then.”

“Did you throw up?” Pansy walks into the room, arms crossed over her chest. Draco can't even be bothered to lie.

“Yes.”

“Draco, you can’t do that, don’t you understand--”

“Fuck me, Pansy, don’t _you_ understand?” Draco snaps. His emotions have been taut the entire evening, all over the damn place. He isn’t in the mood to deal with this.

Pansy stalls, mouth opening in shock. “What is there for me to understand?”

A million things flash in front of Draco’s eyes in a heartbeat. Harry’s expression when Draco talks to him about his eating, Harry offering Draco his fork, Harry’s acceptance and understanding and patience and the way he doesn’t judge Draco or push him to do anything. He didn’t _expect_ anything. The way he let’s Draco decide what to do for himself. Harry’s proximity as he helps Harry with his Potions homework, letting Harry find those answers for himself.

Then, Blaise’s anger and Pansy’s begging, them shoving food in his face like that won’t just make things worse, his mother showing him how to stand straighter and look thinner, the first time he made himself throw up with a toothbrush because he looked in the mirror and only saw a fat, ugly kid who didn’t deserve food until he was skinny enough or beautiful enough to be a Malfoy.

“Everything,” Draco yells. “Everything you’re doing to me! Don’t you see you and Blaise aren’t helping? You’re trying to control me and pressure me to do things I’m not comfortable with! Things I can’t do! There are better ways to fix me up Pansy, because that’s all you’re trying to do. Fix me. Fucking _hell_ , Pans, try letting up on your pathetic begging and give me some space to think for myself. I know I’m broken, Pansy,” Draco yells. He stops, surprised with himself. “I know I’m broken. I know something is wrong with me and I want to fix it,” he rambles, quieter. “I want to get better. I _want_ to not be like this anymore, Pansy.”

Pansy inhales sharply. Draco expects her to scream at him, dig deeper. He’s not at all prepared when Pansy starts crying. She lunges towards him and pulls him into a hug. She’s full on sobbing into Draco’s shoulder. Draco can only stand there.

“Pansy . . .”

“Draco, I’m so happy to hear you say that, you don’t even know,” she cries. Draco gently pushes her away. It is Potter’s jumper, after all. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I was hurting you. I only want to help you.”

Draco starts to reply, utterly shocked by himself and Pansy, but looks over her shoulder to see Blaise in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“I could hear you guys yelling from the stairway,” he says, awkwardly. Draco watches, in some odd sense of horror because this isn’t really happening, as Blaise closes the distance between them and wraps Draco up in a fierce hug.

“Draco, I’m,” Blaise chokes. And Draco’s whole world comes to a stand still, because Blaise Zabini never, not in any lifetime, would ever say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And that does it. Draco breaks again for the second time that day and cries. It’s not nearly like before, with Harry. It’s only a couple of tears, much more controlled, a steady release of emotion. Blaise pulls away, holding Draco at arms length. Blaise’s eyes are teary, and one falls. He coughs into his elbow, turning away from Draco to compose himself.

“Fuck,” Draco says, staring at Blaise’s back. “I’m sorry. I knew you guys were worried, but . . .”

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Pansy sighs. “This isn’t your fault, Draco.”

Draco falls back, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t know what Potter was doing, but it was working. We just fucked that up,” Blaise says to the wall.

Draco’s head jerks up. “What?”

Pansy, rolls her eyes. “Draco, we’re not stupid. You and Potter always disappear at the same time. You two just bloody went and walked in at the same time,” Pansy sighs. “We’re not mad. Obviously he’s helping. I heard what you just said to me, after all.”

“I,” Draco swallows, surprised at their acceptance. “Well, yes. He is helping. He’s, well, he’s great . . .”

And so Draco tells them everything. From Harry walking in on him curled against the wall the first night to their mornings spent in the kitchen. He skips telling them how his heart stops whenever Potter smiles at him for stealing bites of breakfast or how safe he felt wrapped in Harry’s arms or how he is currently wearing Harry’s jumper. He tells them the way Harry doesn’t judge him and hides his concern and the way he lets Draco choose what to do, the way Harry doesn’t push and instead encourages. Draco rambles on and on, almost slipping as he talks about how he’d sketch while Harry did homework or ate breakfast. He doesn’t tell them he’s done a few sketches of Harry, capturing those moments in his sketchbook.

“You’re so hopeless, Draco,” Blaise rolls his eyes as Draco wraps up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh,” Blaise shrugs, smirking as he looks to Pansy. “Nothing.”

“Well, I’m just happy that he’s there for you. Obviously we haven’t been,” Pansy sighs. “And you’ve been keeping down what you eat at breakfast?”

Draco nods. “It’s not a lot, I know, but . . .”

“It’s a start,” Pansy smiles.

“Yes,” Draco says. “I do want to get better. I know I’m not, that I’m not fine. I think I finally realized that tonight,” Draco swallows, recalling the way he’d cried all over Harry not an hour ago, the seriousness and brokenness hitting him at full force in that bathroom stall. “I’m going to try.”

Draco is exhausted, and fuck school. He still has homework to finish. Draco returns to the common room. Pansy and Blaise stay behind to talk about Merlin-knows-what.

Harry’s head snaps up when Draco enters, and the look on his face. He looks so nervous and ridiculous, that Draco can’t help it. He lets out a laugh.

Draco walks over and sits next to Harry, thanking his lucky stars that Granger and Weasley aren’t around.

“That’s my jumper.”

“Do you want it back?” Draco smiles.

“No,” Harry replies much too quickly. “It, er, suits you.”

Draco hides a snigger behind his hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” he sighs, opening his books. “Where are you friends?”

“Hermione’s finished with her homework and went up to read. Ron went with her,” Harry wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to know.”

“Please, spare me,” Draco drawls, relaxing into the sofa. His arm is burning where it’s pressed against Harry’s. He pulls one knee up to prop his book against.

Slowly, Draco grows more and more tired, but he needs to finish this reading. Glancing at Harry, Draco wonders what Harry would do if he leaned his head over on his shoulder to rest.

Harry’s breath hitches. Draco feels him tense for a moment, and he hopes he didn’t make a mistake, but then Harry relaxes, snuggling back, and Draco’s heart swells. He could get used to studying like this.

~~~~~

It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry would rather be anywhere else. It’s not that he doesn’t like spending time with Ron and Hermione, it’s just that they’re acting very couple-y and Neville and Seamus and Dean and about a million other people are there, being very loud and for whatever reason it makes Harry’s anxiety do weird things.

He excuses himself to step outside of the Three Broomsticks for some fresh air. The minute he is out the door, he takes in great lungfuls of crisp, cool December air. Harry stands out there for sometime, hoodie up, watching the pre-holiday crowd pass by. Just when he thinks he should head back inside, Draco opens the door with a small smile.

“Hey,” he says, sliding up beside Harry. Draco’s wearing a lot of layers, bundled up like a present, his long legs wrapped up in tight, black pants and knee high boots. His hair is down under his wool hat and Harry thanks God that the pink that rises on his cheeks could be mistaken for the cold weather.

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asks, smiling.

“Talking to you?”

“Well obviously,” Harry rolls his eyes, “but why not inside with your friends?”

“It’s just a lot in there.”

Harry hums, nodding.

“Pansy and Blaise?”

Draco smiles. “They didn’t try to get me to eat. We just talked. That hasn’t happened in months.”

“Yeah?” Harry takes a small step forward.

“Yes. And, I had a Butterbeer,” Draco smirks, closing more distance.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” Harry smiles ridiculously. And they stand there, grinning at each other for a couple of seconds. Harry’s mind supplies that maybe, if he took another step forward and tilted his head, they’d be in a perfect position to kiss. The thought hits him like a ton of bricks. Instead, Draco turns to face the street, and Harry just takes in his profile, exhaling.

“Hey, what do you say we get out of here?” Harry asks as an idea forms.

Draco tilts his head, regarding Harry. “I’d like that.”

Harry offers his arm. “Side-along?”

“Where are you taking me?” Draco squints and smiles, trying to figure Harry out.

“Do you trust me?” Harry laughs.

“Yes, you pillock,” Draco snorts, taking Harry’s arm. His grip is light and gentle, not at all tight or anxious. Draco trusts him.

Harry turns on the spot, and after of moment, they’re standing in a small alcove, hidden from view. Harry can hear buses and cars and people not far away. He loves apparating here.

“Where are we?” Draco turns to look at Harry.

“London,” Harry smiles. “Eighth years are allowed to leave school grounds on the weekend, yeah?” He says at Malfoy’s flabbergasted look.

“Apparating from Scotland all the way to London? Are you trying to kill us?” He scoffs, letting go. Harry misses the touch immediately. “You’re _insane_ , Potter!”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Harry laughs, pulling at Draco’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s go exploring.”

Harry leads Draco around a corner and taps at bricks on the wall. The cracked brick, then the one directly under it, diagonal down left, and one up. The wall opens, magically hidden from muggles, and Harry steps out onto Langley Street, just off Covent Garden.

“The sun’s out here,” Draco gasps as Harry leads him down to a main street. Harry turns around. Draco’s grinning, looking up at the sky, at the old buildings and streams of Holiday decorations.

“Have you . . . Have you been to Muggle London before?” Harry asks as Draco’s gaze falls everywhere. On the dancers passing by, going to the studio up the street, and the shoppers going to Covent Garden, and the pigeons and the children and the buildings and shop windows. They’ve not even walked half a block.

Draco tears his gaze away from a store decked out in rainbow flags, and gives Harry a look like he’s an idiot. “Have you met Lucius Malfoy, Harry? Of course I’ve never been to Muggle London. Well, except for the apparition point to Kings Cross, but I’d say that hardly counts.”

“No pressure on me, then. We’ve got to do this right,” Harry hums, thinking of the million and one things he could do with Draco today.

They turn the corner onto a main shopping street. Harry considers which way to turn, thinking to bring Draco through Seven Dials to Shaftesbury Avenue, maybe around to Leicester Square and he’ll see from there. The shoppers push past, going every which way. It is a Saturday, after all, so the tourists are crawling the streets. The chaos here is nothing like Hogsmeade, however, because here no one knows him. He has the freedom of anonymity to do anything.

Harry reaches his hand to Draco, living in how Draco’s eyes flit down to his hand, how an eyebrow rises and how his lips quirk upwards in a smirk just before he takes it.

There’s no Ron or Hermione or Three Broomsticks. No homework or Hogwarts or pressure or Saviour or anything. It’s just Draco and Harry and an entire city to explore.

Harry brings Draco through Seven Dials, where Draco sits on the monument to rest a moment and barely speak as he takes in everything. Harry sits on the step behind him and watches Draco as intently as Draco watches the theatre goers pour into the theatre, as he watches the tourists take pictures, as he looks at the muggle cars, laughing and laughing about their ways of transportation.

Draco stands, and Harry follows. Draco sheds a few layers, ducking into an alley to shrink them to fit in his pocket. He’s down to a pastel jumper with a jacket tied around his waist. This time, Draco grabs Harry’s hand as they go down Shaftesbury Avenue.

“Do want to do anything?” Harry asks, sipping on an iced coffee.

“Do you mean we’re not doing anything right now?” Draco whips around to give Harry an incredulous stare.

“All we’ve done is walk around.”

“I like walking around,” Draco sniffs.

~~~~~

Draco really does love walking around. Muggle London is _nothing_ like Wizarding London. For one, it’s much, much larger. 

He watches as a million people go every which way, smiling, laughing, scowling, not giving a shit in the world. It’s incredible. No one seems to know anyone, which is absurd to Draco. In Wizarding London, you tend to see the same faces wherever you go, and if you don’t know someone, then you know someone who knows them. There is no privacy.

Draco loves watching the muggles simply exist in their magicless world. It’s fascinating, taking in all the ways they cope without it, thrive without it. They have these contraptions called cars and busses, as Harry explained to him when he asked. Draco watches as they fly down the narrow roads, narrowly missing hitting each other and the people around them. Draco thought it was extremely dangerous, but the people didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it. If there was a crash, as Harry explained happened sometimes, there was no magic to protect them. Muggles were scary, in some ways.

They also had these devices called cell phones. Draco watches muggles talk into them and tap away at them. Some of them even took pictures (which didn’t even move!). Harry explained that it was kind of like Floo calling, except you didn’t need a fireplace. Draco didn’t want to admit it, but it was a genius idea. It was like a Floo you could fit in your pocket. Maybe the muggles were onto something.

Their money was very odd. Draco watched curiously as Harry bought a coffee. They had about a million different types of coins and paper bills as opposed to three coins, like Wizards used. That didn’t make any sense to Draco. How did they keep track of it all?

“What does that sign indicate?” Draco asks, pointing at a Blue Circle with a red rectangle. This one read _Leicester Square Station._ Draco keeps seeing the symbol around.

“That’s an Underground Station,” Harry explains, a smile creeping up his lips. “You’re gonna love this.”

“What is it?” Draco smiles in return. He loves how Harry answers all of his questions about muggles, no matter how mundane they are. If he ever asked questions like that at home, he’d get a rap across his knuckles at best.

“So you know how muggles have trains that run above ground like the Hogwarts Express? You’ve been to King’s Cross after all.”

“Yes?”

“Well, they also have trains that run underground. Deep underground. They go through tunnels. If everyone traveled by car or bus then no one would get anywhere. The Underground helps with that. I don’t really know how they built it, it’s kind of crazy, if you think about it.”

Draco didn’t understand this in the slightest. Harry must have seen the confusion in his face.

“Do you want to ride it?” Harry asks.

Draco nods. He had to see this.

Harry pulls him inside and down the stairs. There are muggles running every which way in no clear order. It’s chaos, and Draco can’t choose one place to look. Harry leads him to a ticket machine and presses a bunch of buttons. Draco watches as Harry purchases two tickets, explaining as he does so. It all goes over Draco’s head, but he nods anyways.

Harry shows him how to use the turnstyle with his ticket. Then he brings him to a set of moving stairs, marvelling at how muggles could achieve something like that without magic. Harry laughs at him when he says so.

The hallways twist and turn underground, and Draco finds himself growing nervous as they approach a platform.

“Er, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“How on Earth do they keep the ground from collapsing on top of them without magic?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. Not a great sign.

“You know what, I have no idea. Engineering?” Harry suggests, not looking nearly as concerned as Draco thinks he should.

“Oh Merlin save us, I can’t believe I let you drag me here,” Draco yells over the sound of the approaching train. Harry just laughs, pulling Draco inside.

Draco would rather be anywhere than this death trap, waiting for the Earth to collapse over him, but he can’t bloody well say that, so he puts on a face like this doesn’t bother him in the slightest. It slips when the train takes off _very_ suddenly. Draco loses balance, letting out a yelp as he falls into Harry, who catches him, laughing.

“Thanks for the fucking warning,” he growls, glaring a young boy who laughs at him, pointing.

They ride two stops (and Draco _doesn’t_ fall the second time, thank you) and Harry pulls Draco out of the car, leading him expertly outside. Draco tries not to make it too obvious how relieved he is to be above ground.

“What did you think?” Harry asks, poorly hiding his amusement.

“ _Never_ , in all my days, Potter, will I ever be using Muggle transport again,” Draco replies.

Harry, damn him, just sniggers. Draco looks around, finding that they’re just outside of a park. Harry’s eyes are sparkling, and Draco thinks that he’d follow Harry anywhere with that look, even if it was back underground.

They take off, walking through the park. 

“Buckingham Palace,” Harry says as a gorgeous building comes into view from behind the trees.

“Woah.” He knows Buckingham Palace, of course, but he’d never been able to see it. It was far too muggle for his father’s tastes. He had yearned to, ever since first year, however.

Theo had these heavy, thick muggle books that he always brought with him everywhere. When Draco asked about them in first year, Theo told Draco all about architecture. Muggle architecture. Draco watched Theo as he studied these books, not believing that muggles were capable of these gorgeous designs. There had to be magic involved, especially for _that_ building.

Buckingham Palace.

It was smaller than Draco imagined, but every bit as beautiful, as breathtaking. Draco takes strides forward, up the steps that lead to the overlook behind the fountain. Draco looks and looks, taking in every detail, from the cast iron gate all the way to the borders of the windows.

He feels Harry watching him, and looks over his shoulder. Harry smiles.

They stand there until Harry has to pull Draco away (now, he’s watching the tourists mess with the guards). They find themselves sitting against a tree in the sunshine. Harry’s picking at a croissant he bought from a cart, Draco’s drinking an iced coffee with cream, nibbling at a piece of Harry’s croissant.

Draco pulls his sketchbook from his bag, opening it to a blank page, scratching out Buckingham Palace as Harry explains football, which is a Muggle sport that is apparently as popular as Quidditch, but Draco can’t see how without brooms or flying.

Harry begins to explain the concept of red cards, but slowly dies down as he watches Draco’s pencil fly.

“Draco?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see your drawings?” Harry asks, ever so softly. Draco catches his eyes, that green gaze, and Merlin help him. His eyes are sparkling. Draco drops the gaze, handing Harry his sketchbook.

Draco watches Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry holds onto the leather book with a care he didn’t think possible, coming from Harry Potter. He runs a finger down it’s spine and gently thumbs open the cover to the first page. Draco looks away, focusing intently on some kids playing in the trees around them.

The sounds of the page turns are consistent, every couple of seconds as Harry leafs through the sketchbook. Draco’s heart is hammering, and he is nervous. He’s terrified. He’s never shown anyone his sketches, not even Pansy. So scared of rejection. His entire being is between those pages, his soul in every line.

Harry turns another page. In a second he’ll turn it again. Any second now. And, Harry doesn’t turn the page. 

“Draco,” Harry says, voice low and heavy.

Draco swallows. “Yeah?”

Harry hands the book back to Draco. Draco looks down. It’s open to a page. His heart drops.

Shit.

He’d completely forgotten. Sitting in the kitchens early in the morning, the bright light making Harry glow, Draco couldn’t bloody well not draw that. 

This portrait is slightly stylized. Draco isn’t the best at realism, instead a fan of more angular drawings. Harry was focused so intently on his homework that morning, pouring over his book. The light captured his features gorgeously, and well, Draco wanted to remember that moment forever.

Draco’s heart is pounding. He hesitantly looks up at Harry.

Harry is leaning forward on his arm, close to Draco in order to show him that page. His eyes are intense. 

“Do you like it?” Is all Draco can think to say.

Harry breaks his gaze. Draco feels it instead trail is body, down and back up into his eyes. He is very close now. “I love it.”

Draco can feel Harry’s breath on his face, and he can’t look away. If he leans in, just a little, and if Harry leaned in.

Harry licks his lips, and Draco really wants to kiss him.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, and Harry leans forward.

Then, suddenly, something cold and very wet spills over Draco’s trousers, and Harry swears and pulls back, and Draco would normally be pissed that Harry knocked Draco’s coffee over both their laps, but now he’s pissed for a completely different reason.

He almost kissed Harry Potter. And he _didn’t!_ If only he’s put his coffee on his other side. Fucking hell.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Harry scrambles, picking up the emptying cup. Draco scoffs, pulling his wand from his boot. He casts a cleaning charm between them, not worried about the muggles. They’ve seen weirder stuff in central London.

“Not a problem,” Draco says.

~~~~~

After that they decide to see Trafalgar Square before going back, Harry intent on showing Draco as many tourist destinations as possible. Draco trails along, and does his silent staring thing at Big Ben that he did at Buckingham Palace. Harry loves his silent staring thing. It gives Harry a chance to see Draco immersed in something he loves. He gets to see Draco without any walls built up around him. So he lets him stare at Big Ben.

They sit in Trafalgar Square on the steps. Draco’s watching the people and Harry is still watching Draco. The sky is slowly growing darker, Draco pulling his layers back on as the weather grows cold, knees drawn to his chest.

“I have the oddest craving right now.”

“Oh?” Harry smiles at the back of Draco’s head. Draco turns around, grinning at Harry.

“Yes,” he says. “Just sitting here in the dark with you is making me think of the kitchens at Hogwarts, and well. Do you know if any place serves breakfast this late?”

“Draco, we are in the heart of Central London. There is definitely a place that serves breakfast this late. Let’s go.”

Harry stands, pulling Draco up with him. Since that near kiss that Harry is trying to convince himself he imagined in St. James’ Park, Harry hasn’t tried to hold Draco’s hand again, but this time Draco doesn’t let go.

They walk back through Soho until they find a spot. It’s an American-style diner, though Harry suspects it’s rather classier than the real thing considering the location and the crowd. They find a booth, Draco commenting on the pure kitsch of the decor, sniggering. 

“Does coffee not affect you or something?” Harry asks as Draco down his first cup. “It’s nearly eight. You’ll be up all night.”

Draco responds by getting a refill. Harry rolls his eyes as the waitress takes their order. Draco takes a half-order of French toast, and Harry’s chest could explode. His heart is swelling with pure admiration for the man in front of him, ordering an odd dinner, but dinner, nonetheless. Harry celebrates by ordering French toast as well, a full order.

They talk about everything as they wait, the conversation remaining friendly and light, until Draco’s forehead tenses in a telltale way and Harry gives him a moment to say whatever he’s about to say.

“Harry, thank you for getting us out of Hogsmeade.”

“Well, it gets old pretty quickly, especially since we’ve been there so many times--”

“I mean,” Draco interrupts. “I really needed to get out of that castle, that area. I needed a break, and I didn’t even know it until we were out here. I just never realized.” Draco looks at some point past Harry’s shoulder, and it’s just like they’re back in the Hogwarts kitchens, that first night. Draco does that whenever he tells Harry something real, some sort of personal detail that shouldn’t seem big but is, to Draco.

“I’ve never been in the Muggle world like this, and I can’t exactly explain it. The anonymity of the entire thing. The way no one glared at me or spit on me or lashed out with death threats. That girl at the coffee shop even complimented my jumper. That wouldn’t happen to me in the Wizarding world. And it’s just, there’s this whole big world out there, outside of Hogwarts and what I know. It makes my own problems seem so much smaller. It takes me out of my own mind, watching these muggles exist in their big, carefree world, blissfully ignorant of magic and everything that comes with it,” Draco sighs, reconnecting their gaze. He lets out a soft smile.

“It’s nice, to know that a world like that exists.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where Draco Malfoy would like the Muggle world.”

“I was wrong about so much, Potter, Merlin,” he laughs, one of relief. “It’s just, today, for a couple of hours, I forgot all about my parents. I forgot about trying to be a Malfoy. I just got to live for a day, forgetting. So, thank you.”

“Draco,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I know exactly what you mean. I come down to London a lot, really, because here nobody knows I’m Harry Potter. I know exactly what you mean.”

Draco simply looks at Harry, some indiscernible look. Harry can tell he is mulling something over.

“Harry, have you thought about where you want to live after Hogwarts? Where you’ll go?”

Harry has indeed though about this, and knows the answer. “I have a house. It was my Godfather’s, and he left it to me. Even though it’s a magical house, it’s in the middle of Muggle London. And there are so many memories there, so much history. So much suffering in those walls,” Harry closes his eyes, taking a moment to _not go down that path._ He takes a deep breath. “It’ll be hard, I think, but I want to move in there and redo it. It’s a depressing house, but I want to give it a new life. That’s where I’ll go. I’ll spend a few months redoing it and everything. I’ll need a lot of help, because it is a big house for one person, but that’s my goal. After that?” Harry laughs, waving a hand. “Who knows. Everyone wants me to be an Auror, but I don’t know.”

Draco is giving him that same look that he was giving the tourists and the buildings and the sky. Full of passion and intention. Harry would give anything to know what he’s thinking.

He opens his mouth to reply, but at that moment, their food arrives and whatever Draco was going to say is lost.

~~~~~

Draco can’t believe he almost did that. He can’t stop thinking about it. He almost told Potter that he’d help him with his house. What the fuck was wrong with him? Harry had Granger and the entire Weasley clan, he didn’t need Draco to help him.

And after they were done? Harry said it was a big house for one person. That did dangerous things to Draco’s imagination. He shakes his head, barely realizing as the thoughts tumble forth that he’s eating, and not even thinking about it.

He should get out more often.

They finish and pay, then begin the walk back to the apparition point. Harry doesn’t know any others in the city. Draco pokes at his brain, trying to decide how he feels about eating a full meal. 

It’s well past dark out now, but the streets are still full. Draco decides to stop trying to figure it out, then instead starts mulling over what Harry said, and now he can’t stop looking at Harry, trying to decide what to do, if anything. Not to mention, the shop and Holiday lights keep reflecting off of Harry’s glasses, his green eyes. He looks gorgeous, like he did leaning close to him in the park earlier, eyes intense and hungry.

And with that thought, Draco’s mind wanders off on its own. He could stop, tug at Harry’s hand, and when he turns around to ask Draco why he stopped, Draco could close that distance, push him up against a wall, and it would be so natural. Draco runs that scenario over in his head a few times.

Harry must feel Draco’s gaze. He looks over his shoulder, grinning. Draco must be wearing some expression, because that grin falters, and Harry’s eyes flit to Draco’s lips, and Draco stops.

The sudden tug at Harry’s hand cause him to turn around and fall into Draco. Draco’s heart rate increases, and it happens in slow motion. Draco pulls at Harry’s hand, taking advantage of his imbalance to turn him around and push him back to the wall. Then Harry leans forward, and Draco closes the distance. The scenario in his head, for the first time in his life, is playing out.

Harry’s lips ghost against his, and that slight contact sends Draco off, he presses into Harry, finding his lips rough and open and inviting. He lets out a soft hum, and Harry’s arms are around him, moving up his back and into his hair. Draco breathes into the kiss, exploring Harry’s mouth. He could do this forever.

They pull back together, panting slightly. Draco looks into Harry’s eyes. They’re alight, his cheeks flaming. He breath is visible in this weather. Draco loves it.

“Hi,” Harry says. Draco sniggers. It’s so stupid.

“Was that okay?” He asks, giving Harry his best seductive smirk. It works.

“I-er-erm, ye-yeah. Yes,” Harry stutters. He takes a breath and lets out that ridiculous, toothy smile Draco loves. “That was perfectly fine.”

“Just fine?” Draco whines, leaning forward.

“ _Brilliant._ ” Harry breathes into Draco lips just before they meet again. This time it’s more controlled, more rhythmic, and there’s more tongue. Draco likes that part a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next, and probably final, chapter will be out in a few days! Sorry to break the nightly posting pattern, but life wants me to do stuff that isn't writing. (What the heck is that all about!?)  
> Your reviews are giving me life and are the sole reason this fic exists this far. All comments and suggestions appreciated <3 Till next time, thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we dive into our last chapter (of the main story ;) I just want to give all of you a huge thank you for reading and your kudos and comments! This has been my most well-received Drarry fic to date, and I couldn't be happier about it! You are all amazing :)  
> Also note the added tag!  
> Again, no beta so sorry about weird spelling or grammar! Will fix as I notice!  
> Here we go!

Draco and Harry still meet every morning for breakfast in the kitchens, but they stop their nightly meetings in the bathroom.

Snogging in a bathroom kind of ruins the mood, so now they go to the Astronomy Tower where they do homework and kiss, and sketch, and kiss some more, and talk. They talk a lot. About anything and everything. And the Astronomy Tower is fine and all, but Harry can’t help but wish that they could curl up on a common room sofa instead.

Hermione and Ron pick up on Harry’s good mood quickly.

“That Hogsmeade weekend did you good, mate,” Ron claps Harry on the back.

Harry’s eyes jump to Draco for a split second. He’s down the table, drinking coffee, and chatting with Parkinson and Zabini lightly. Harry takes great pleasure in how they don’t push him anymore. Draco had eaten a pretty full breakfast not an hour ago. It didn’t compare to Harry and definitely not to Ron, but it was a legitimate meal, one he’s been eating most mornings, even if he did get some pretty bad panic attacks at night sometimes. He was trying. Harry couldn’t be prouder.

“Guess I had to get out of the castle for a stretch,” Harry says, returning his gaze.

“Didn’t you leave early?” Hermione raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, actually,” Harry replies, choosing not to lie to his friends. At least not completely. “I apparated down to London for a day out.”

“And you didn’t think to ask us?” Ron drops his fork looking hurt. Harry usually does visit the city with his friends, but. Well. He had other things to do.

“Sorry, I was, um. Had company,” Harry mutters. Okay so maybe the truth wasn’t his best idea.

“Was, um, had company,” Hermione hums.

“Woah, I thought there wasn’t a girl!” Ron leans forward. “Anyone we know?”

Harry bites back a scoff, a trait he definitely stole from Draco. “There _isn’t,_ and I am not talking about this.”

“Come _on_ , Harry!” Ron pleads. Harry looks to Hermione for support but she’s just grinning.

“I didn’t go on a date!” Harry retorts. Okay, well, it wasn’t supposed to be. But maybe, since he thought of the idea immediately after thinking about kissing Draco, and then they did actually kiss, and it was the most amazing night of Harry’s life. Well, maybe it was a date. An accidental date. Hermione’s smile switches to a soft glare.

“Harry, you’re lying,” Hermione hums again. Harry hates the blood that rises to his cheeks. “Besides, if you went out with a friend, I know you would have invited us.”

Harry sighs. She’s right. Everytime he goes to London with anyone, Ron and Hermione are always invited. Hell, when Neville and Luna dragged him down there to look at the summer gardens, Harry brought Ron and Hermione, and he wasn’t even the reason for going.

“There is no girl, I’m _not_ lying,” Harry sticks to that.

“Okay? So it’s a boy, then?” Hermione persists, and Harry chokes on his coffee. _Not_ expecting that one. Ron whacks him on the back.

“Stop teasing him, ‘Mione!” Ron laughs.

At the same time, Harry says, “Fuck, Hermione, how do you know everything?”

There’s an awkward silence for one, two, three beats before Hermione continues. “Do we know him?”

Ron is staring. Surprise, Harry thinks. Harry hears a shuffle under the table.

“Ouch, ‘Mione!” Ron yelps. “Wait, but didn’t you date my sister? And Cho?”

Harry groans into his hands. “Can’t I like both?”

“Ronald, honestly. It’s called being bisexual, Harry, and it’s perfectly common.”

“How do you know everything?” Harry repeats.

“Because who else is going to teach you idiots basic things?” She replies, lovingly, but exasperated. “So are you seeing a boy?”

Harry looks back and forth between his two friends. Hermione is smiling encouragingly, perhaps a bit smartly. Ron looks likes his mind is in the process of being blown at the concept of bisexuality, but that’s just Ron. Harry feels a sudden rush of affection for them.

But, “I can’t tell you who, right now. I’d have to ask him first,” Harry replies, thinking that excuse is as good as any.

Hermione just gives him one of her trademark looks as she sips her tea. Ron just throws an arm over his shoulders. “You know we love you no matter what.”

He’ll have to tell them at some point, and he just hopes that sentiment remains true then.

~~~~~

It’s another rough night. Harry managed to coax Draco away from the bathroom. Harry doesn’t know why some days are easy. Draco eats breakfast, sometimes even a little at dinner, and goes about his day, and is completely fine. Other days he gets some anxiety about it, and some days, he full on freaks out. Harry still doesn’t know how to handle this, really, or why it happens, but at least he doesn’t stand by helpless any more. 

Harry learned that instead of pleading with Draco not to throw up, he has to be gentle. Be encouraging. Pleading and strict anger don’t work. He can’t touch Draco when he’s panicking, either, but the gentle words seem to be enough for him to calm down. Once he’s calmed down enough, Harry can wrap him in a hug. Draco is cold again on this night, so Harry pulls off his hoodie and gets Draco to wear that. Then, Harry takes his hand and leads him away from the stalls.

Harry doesn’t think Draco is fit for company at the moment, so he brings him down into the kitchens. 

“We’re only here for some coffee,” Harry tells him when he tenses up as they get nearer. 

Draco doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t take cream or sugar tonight. When Draco’s like this, Harry knows that coffee is the only thing that he’ll let himself consume. It doesn’t make sense to Harry, but it calms Draco down a little. He must be immune to the side effects of caffeine at this point.

Draco sips his coffee, staring blankly at the table. Harry talks a lot, finding any topic to distract Draco. He is halfway through telling him about setting a boa constrictor loose on his cousin, when Draco moves to sit on Harry’s side of the table. Harry doesn’t stop talking until Draco hushes him, then pulls him into a light kiss.

“Thank you,” Draco says after, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you to stop me. You’re helping so much, and I still can’t wrap my head around why. I mean, we even date now? Is that what this is? And I still can’t figure it out.”

Harry full on stops, shocked at his words. If Harry didn’t stop him, he’d probably be passed out on the bathroom floor right now, but Harry pushes that thought away. Instead, he wraps Draco up in his arms and sighs. “I care about you, Draco. That’s why.”

“Me too. I care about you,” he breaths into Harry’s T-shirt, laughing softly. “Merlin, I’m tired. You’ve got me saying sappy things. This is all your fault.”

Harry laughs softly, and slowly the warmth in his stomach turns ice cold with dread as he holds Draco.

Harry doesn’t want to stop holding on to Draco. Harry has grown so used to hearing Draco’s voice everyday, to his snide remarks, and sarcasm, and eye rolls. HIs smiles, and touches, and mannerisms. He doesn’t want to let that go, ever. And it hits him how they’ve been hiding in these kitchens, in the Astronomy Tower, in the bathroom and in the beautiful anonymous bliss of London. They may have shared their first kiss there, but Harry realizes it’s been going on far longer than that, even before he really knew it.

Harry wants Draco in his life after this. When he moves into Grimmauld Place and fixes it up, he wants Draco there. Merlin, he wants Draco _there._ He wants Ron and Hermione to get to know him, and him to know them. He wants to see what brilliant ideas he and Hermione could come up with, and he wants to see Draco bicker with Ron. He wants to bring Draco over to the Weasley’s for the holidays, to his family. He wants him in his life after this moment, after Hogwarts.

“I love you,” Harry says breathlessly, then freezes. He didn’t mean to say that. It just kind of slipped out as he imagined what he could have. If Ron and Hermione accept him.

Draco freezes for a half second, then pulls out of Harry’s arms quickly. His expression is one of shock, and Harry realizes what he said and all of the implications it bring and oh _fuck._

“What?” Draco asks.

“Er, sorry.”

Draco’s shock expression breaks and he laughs. “Don’t be sorry, you idiot.” Then his expression softens and he simply looks at Harry for a few long beats, then lets out an exhale like a soft laugh. “I love you, too, Harry.”

Harry pulls Draco in for another kiss, one he fiercely returns. 

“Wow,” Harry says when they pull back. “I love you so much, Draco.”

Draco hums, and falls back into Harry’s arms.

“I’ll have to tell Ron and Hermione,” Harry mumbles into his hair moments later, the recollection dousing his great mood.

“Oh,” Draco replies, exhaling slowly. “I suppose you would.”

“You’re okay with that?” Harry replies, surprised at the lack of emotion in Draco’s voice.

“I mean, I would rather like to be snuggling upstairs instead of in the bloody kitchens.”

“And if they don’t like it?” Harry shakes his head. “They don’t exactly know you like I do.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Potter. They love you. It’s rather grotesque quite honestly. I doubt I could get in the way of that. And if they don’t like me?” Draco smirks, and it reaches his eyes. “They can join the queue.”

Harry feels the tension that’s holding his chest loosen, just slightly, as he leans in for another kiss.

~~~~~

Draco is not worried at all about Weasel or Granger liking him. What he is concerned about, however, is getting cast aside if they don’t.

He wasn’t kidding when he said they loved Harry, a ridiculous amount. Harry loved them back just as much, and Draco wasn’t so sure he could get in between that. Exist in that space. Even if Harry loves him.

Merlin, Harry love him. And he loves Harry. 

Of course, he couldn’t tell Harry any of his worries. So for now, he’ll just have to wait and see.

When Harry pulls back out of the kiss, Draco stops him with a hand hand on the back of his head, giving Harry another good few seconds of lingering. Just in case.

Draco brings his coffee with him when they head back upstairs. He’s been drinking multiple cups a day since fourth year, so it hardly affects him anymore. In fact, now it’s more of a habit and an avoiding caffeine deficient headaches thing than a waking up thing. Plus, the warmth and routine of it grounds him. Harry was very smart in bringing him down here for coffee, indeed. Very thoughtful, and it touches Draco that someone looks out for him like that. Harry knew what Draco needed before Draco did. He doesn’t want to lose that.

He lets Harry lead him upstairs by hand, pressing him against the wall outside of the common room for one more quick kiss before they release hands to enter.

Granger and Weasley are gone, but Pansy is in a corner, frantically scribbling on parchment.

“Wait for me?” Draco asks Harry. Harry nods.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, retreating to the dorms to get his homework.

Draco sits across Pansy. She finishes her sentence before acknowledging him.

“Wasn’t that due this morning?”

“Shush, you!” Pansy puts her pen down. “So I’m not on top of my Charms, big deal.”

“Well, actually--” Draco drawls, but Pansy cuts him off.

“Are you okay today?” She worries her bottom lip, taking in his appearance. “Did you . . .?”

“No, I didn’t. Harry talked me down,” Draco responds, sipping his coffee. Pansy gives him a small smile.

“I’m proud of you.”

Draco scoffs. “Please, if Harry wasn’t there I wouldn’t have given it another thought. I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. You didn’t do anything. I know you, Draco, and if you _really_ wanted to, Potter wouldn’t have been able to stop you. He’s helping you, but in the end it’s all you. And I’m proud of you.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to that, face burning, so he says nothing, retreating to his coffee instead.

“Pansy,” Draco says after w short while. He runs his index finger around the rim of the cup. Round and round, staring into his black coffee. He feels Pansy still in front of him. “I like Harry. A lot.”

“Yeah?” Draco looks up at Pansy. Her eyes are soft, and it is so unlike her. Normally she’d be hounding him with questions at a confession like that. And Draco realizes that in all the time where his focus and her focus was on his eating, he completely missed it. Pansy’s grown up.

“Yeah,” Draco breathes, watching her. He’s proud of her, too. “I actually think I love him. We’re dating.”

“I kind of already knew?”

Draco chokes, coughing coffee on Pansy’s essay. She casts a cleaning charm on it. “ _What?_ ”

“Draco, did you even hear yourself when you told Blaise and me about it the other week? Merlin! It was so obvious that you liked him, it was all over your face. And the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching? It’s pathetic, honestly,” she laughs. “But thank you for telling me. That at least answers the question of whether or not you idiots have acted on it. Though the fact that your wearing his shit kind of already does.”

Draco pulls down on the hoodie’s sleeves and crosses his arms. “Well, there you have it. So, you and Blaise have talked about this?”

“Talked about it, analyzed it, written essays on it, Draco,” she raises an eyebrow.

At that moment, Harry appears in the doorway from the dorms. He catches Draco’s eye and smiles.

“Cute,” Pansy coos. Draco waves him over and tries not to find the confusion on his face too endearing.

“Hey, Malfoy. Parkinson,” he greets. Draco bites his lip. It’s so hot when he calls him Malfoy, even if it’s just a cover at this point.

“Harry, I told her.”

Pansy scoffs. “Puh-lease, don’t take all the credit! Potter,” she rounds on Harry. “You two are so bloody obviously crazy about each other. I figured it out, but Draco just confirmed it. And, I’m happy for him. For both of you,” she smiles. Harry swallows.

“Oh, er. Thank you?”

Draco watches as Pansy lunges at Harry and wraps him up in one of her tight hugs. She has a thing for doing that. Harry looks utterly confused and a little scared. Draco can’t be sure, but in whatever whispering she’s doing in Harry’s ear, he swears he hears a ‘thank you.’

Pansy releases Harry, and holds him at arm's length, smiling devilishly. “Now, you two behave. I have fucking essay due ten hours ago.”

Pansy collects her things and heads to the dorms with a final wave as Draco walks to the sofa with Harry. He can feel the eyes of the common room on him. Thomas and Finnegan are huddled in a corner. Some Ravenclaws, Finch-Fletchley and Goldstein also sneak some glances. 

He agreed with Harry that they wouldn’t be too outward until their close friends knew. Pansy is almost certainly telling Blaise right now, so that leaves Granger and Weasley.

They sit and Harry gives Draco a sheepishly grin. Draco smirks back. “Potions?”

“Potions.”

“Look at you, getting a headstart on your work.”

“Don’t look so surprised!”

Draco takes another sip, noticing that the coffee doesn’t automatically refill outside of the kitchens. He’ll have to ration it. Potions will take a lot of time.

They get to work.

~~~~~~

“Ron, just leave them,” Hermione’s voice is the first thing Harry hears as he wakes. His back is aching something fierce and he realizes that this isn’t his bed. It’s much more uncomfortable. And there’s a warm weight pressed over his chest, his arm resting over it and Harry realizes that he and Draco fell asleep.

Fuck.

They studied very late last night, despite being Friday, well after everyone else had gone to bed, for that wonderful excuse. To be able to snuggle in front of the common room fire, exchanging kisses like any other Eighth year couple, homework forgotten. They must have fallen asleep in that dream.

“I mean, of all the possible blokes Harry could’ve been seeing, _Malfoy?_ ”

“Ron, you’re so oblivious sometimes . . .” Harry opens his eyes to find Hermione standing a few feet away, a soft smile on her face. Ron is pacing back and forth, scowling.

“Great, he’s awake, explain yourself, Harry,” Ron stops, pointing like he’s in court.

Harry needs some coffee for this. He groans, nudging Draco. “Wake up.”

Draco groans and curls up a little, holding Harry tighter. It’s so bloody adorable and completely not the right time for this. “Draco, wake up. We fell asleep.”

Draco’s eyes flutter open, and he looks like the happiest thing in the whole world. “Hey, good morning.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron yells, throwing his hands up. Draco sits up quickly, startling awake, serene expression replaced quickly with a scowl.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco throws out from habit.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Malfoy. Harry, what is going on?”

“Oh my God,” Harry pushes himself off the couch. This is not a sitting conversation. Draco follows.

“Harry, is . . . that your hoodie?” Ron’s mouth drops open, angry scowl replaced with shock. Draco looks down at the hoodie, putting his hands in the pocket.

“Uh,” Harry swallows.

“Yes,” Draco replies, eyes flashing in a way Harry _loves._ Harry unconciously bites his lip as Draco leans his weight over one hip and raises a perfect eyebrow at Ron. Harry coughs into his elbow, trying to rein his expression into something more appropriate.

Hermione smothers a laugh behind her hand.

“What, Hermione?” Ron turns, flabbergasted.

“It’s just, Ron, you’re unbelievable sometimes.”

“ _Me?_ ”

Draco shakes his head, fierce glare replaced with a soft smile, mouthing the words ‘she knew.’

“Ron. Draco’s been helping Harry with Potions. Harry’s been help--well, meeting with Draco most nights and nearly every morning. Harry, I’m sorry, but you’re not subtle in the slightest.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. He thought he’d been well . .. Okay well maybe not _subtle_ , but certainly not obvious. “How did you . . .”

Next to him Draco starts laughing. Harry glares at him. “What?”

“Merlin, Granger, you’re brilliant.”

And Harry looks between Draco and Hermione, heart fluttering. She knows. She’s _known._ She’s not angry or upset.

Hermione just laughs. “Don’t be so flattering. You two aren’t very subtle, and we knew Harry was seeing someone. Anyone who was looking could figure it out, and I was looking. Ron, on the other hand . . .”

“Yeah, sure, they always disappear at the same time!” Ron throws up his hand. “But, who would’ve guessed it was _Malfoy_ he was seeing! I thought they hated each other! They were arguing in class yesterday like their lives depended on it, I mean?”

“ _Us?_ Arguing?” Malfoy places a hand over his chest on mock offense.

“Never,” Harry shoots Malfoy a glare, and on cue he glares back with a sneer. They hold it for a beat and Draco’s sneer cracks into laughter, Harry watches fondly.

“Oh,” Ron says, hands dropping. “I see it now.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nods.

“But, how did this even happen?”

Draco sits back on the sofa and stares longingly at his empty coffee mug. Harry glances at him, then back to his friends, waiting for an explanation. Harry briefly remembers the magical things that happened outside of the castle and all of the context and rules and history that came with it’s walls. This conversation might need a miracle. And it is Saturday, after all.

“Do you guys have any plans today?”

~~~~~

And that’s how Draco ends up sitting across from Weasley and Granger, drinking diner coffee over a shared plate of chips in London. Not the ideal breakfast, but he’s not very hungry, anyways.

“My mug here never goes empty,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as the waitress refills his mug for the fifth time. The conversation is stilted, not to his surprise. And he’s worried to start it. This morning he completely forgot about trying to be friendly at all towards Weasley, instead jumping on the defence. Well, in _his_ defence he’d just be rudely awoken. He would have very much liked to have stayed in Harry’s arms, perhaps pulled him into his shower. But still, he had to play nice.

He glances at Weasley and Granger who are sharing an expression of confusion. “It’s just an observation,” he explains. “When Harry and I disappear in the mornings, as you put it, we go to the kitchens. The mugs there magically refill themselves and never go empty. So,” he shrugs one shoulder.

“Are you comparing the waitress to a House Elf?” Weasley asks, jumping immediately to the negative. Draco coughs on his coffee. This’ll be a hard one.

“Merlin, _no._ If anything I’m saying the waitress is magical like the coffee at school,” he explains. Hermione laughs.

“Ron, don’t give him a hard time.”

“Why are you on his side?”

“I’m mostly on Harry’s side.” Hermione shoots Ron a look, and he glances between the three of them before going silent. The tension slowly creeps back.

“I suppose I should preface everything I might tell you with something that I should’ve said a long time ago,” Draco continues once the conversation goes dead again. He locks eyes with Granger.

“Granger--”

“Oh, Hermione, please,” she clarifies, waving a hand.

Draco opens and closes his mouth, somewhat shocked at her openness. He hopes that’ll make this a little easier.

“Er. Hermione. I’m--I sincerely apologize for being such a bigoted bully to you all of those years. I would excuse it for simply repeating what my father said, but at the time I really, truly believed his words, so that excuse is invalid. I must have caused you a lot of pain, and I’m sorry.”

“At the time?” Hermione asks, inquisitive. “Past tense?”

“Past tense. I don’t believe in any of that any longer, given the summer to sort out my priorities and the latter half of the war to think it through for myself. Sometimes I still find myself thinking like I used to, reverting back into my old ways, but I am trying to change and get better. And I know my apology comes empty, but I will do everything in my power to show you that I mean it.”

Hermione is looking at him, expression full of some emotion Draco can’t place. A little bit of surprise, some warmth, but also a coldness. She is so intense. It balances Weasley well, he thinks.

“Okay. Perhaps I can forgive you with time, then,” she hums over her teacup. Draco lets out a sigh of relief. It’s not full forgiveness, but he doesn’t deserve that yet, anyways. Perhaps he never will, but it’s enough. He turns to Weasley, who is wearing a look of horror on his face. He feels Harry’s hand on his knee under the table.

“Don’t call me Ron,” he says. Draco snorts.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he continues. Onwards and upwards. “Weasley, I apologize for teasing you all of those years, and I especially apologize for mocking your family.”

Weasley looks between him and Hermione. “Is that it?”

Draco shrugs. That’s it. He finds it much harder to apologize to Ron Weasley, especially since he can not seem to let go of the grudge of that name-mocking all of those years ago. Fuck, at least he was the first to man up and apologize. 

“Hey, Gra--Hermione didn’t deserve my purist shit. You were also an aggressor half the time. I am sincerely sorry for mocking your family, because that also stemmed from the purist bullshit I believed in, and the principle of the thing was all wrong. But that’s all I’m apologizing for.”

He can feel Harry’s burning gaze on him. He turns to face him. Draco never really understood what bemused was to supposed to look like until now. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, sipping his coffee.

“Harry, you’re taking his side?” Ron asks. Harry shrugs.

“I’m a neutral party. You’re my friend, he’s my boyfriend. This is strictly a you-guys thing.”

Ron groans. “That still doesn’t answer my question. How did this happen?” He gestures between the two of them.

Draco looks at Harry and sighs. Since it really started with his personal problems and Harry’s willingness to help, he should be in charge of what to disclose and what not to. That’s what Harry conveys in his apprehensive look, and Draco appreciates the sentiment, but this will be difficult.

He takes a deep breath, and begins.

~~~~~

Harry listens with an overwhelming amount of affection and pride as Draco tells Ron and Hermione everything, beginning with the Malfoy standards for some background. Near the beginning, when Draco stutters telling them about Harry walking in on Draco throwing up for the first time, Harry responds without thinking by taking Draco’s hand above the table. Draco pauses, entwines their fingers (ignoring Ron’s sputtering), takes a deep breath and continues, and for the first time he call it an “eating disorder” instead of just his “habits” or his “eating thing.” And Harry very nearly cries, he cannot believe how far Draco has come. He holds on tighter.

He tells them everything, even things that Harry had no idea about. He says that he started falling for Harry when he realized he was still wearing Harry’s jumper on that first night of talking. He tells them about Parkinson and Zabini, and how he knew they cared, but they didn’t _get_ it. And Harry got it. He knew what Draco needed, not all of the time, certainly, but a lot of the time. He tells them about how Harry would talk and talk to distract Draco when he’d panic, about secretly drawing Harry in his sketchbook and when Harry saw one of the sketches. He told them about visiting Muggle London for the first time, getting somewhat side tracked as Hermione jumped in with other ideas to experience the city. Draco ate that up, and Harry tried to hide his ridiculous smile, watching them go at it.

He told them what he loved about the Muggle world, how everything there exists outside of you and how free he felt, which is partly why he was able to get the nerve to kiss Harry that night. He also mentions that feeling the absolute freedom and largeness of it helped him get out of his head. He finishes by telling them that he’s not near recovered, but he’s getting better slowly, with Harry by his side. And that’s where they’re at.

Ron is very quiet, as he gets when trying to process new information, when he’s trying to figure something out. The fact that he isn’t lashing out is a very good sign to Harry. He doesn’t press.

Hermione, on the other hand, listens intently and nods along, beaming by the time Draco is finished.

After paying (and arguing on Harry and Draco’s part over who gets to pay. Harry wins because Draco only drank coffee) Hermione thinks the perfect way to get out of their heads is to go to Waterstone Piccadilly. Ron and Harry groan.

“Waterstones?” He asks.

“‘Mione, we _always_ go to Waterstones!” Ron mumbles.

Harry looks to Draco to find his eyes gleaming like he does when he’s sketching. So, they go to Waterstones.

“Show him the wizard stuff,” Harry says the minute they’re in the door. Hermione’s eyes are gleaming now. She turns to Draco and tells him about Muggle wizard lore and the different types as they make their way to the fantasy section. Draco’s eyes search everywhere, stopping at every display.

“This is actually rather funny,” Draco observes, leafing through _Lord of the Rings._ “Gandalf sounds like another old wizard I know.”

“Look at this one,” Hermione shoves the Wizard of Oz in Draco’s arms. He’s slowly amassing a pile of books. “It’s a classic!”

“That one doesn't count. The wizard doesn’t even end up being a wizard!” Ron points out.

“ _Spoilers!_ ” Hermione and Draco yell at the same time, sharing a bemused expression.

Ron and Harry stand back, observing.

“We found ourselves the two biggest nerds in the castle, huh?” Ron remarks as Draco and Hermione leaf through another book, heads bowed together, Draco gesturing wildly and laughing. Harry looks over at him in surprise. Ron is watching them, his eyes sparkling at Hermione. Harry suspects he looks like that when he’s staring at Draco. Ron’s eyes slide to Harry’s.

“Thank God, I couldn’t pass my classes without either of them.”

Ron lets out a huff of breath that’s nearly a laugh. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been a lot happier recently. He must be doing something, right, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry swallows. “If things didn’t work out by now, it would’ve been my fault though. I don’t think he could really do anything at this point to get rid of me.”

Ron sighs, giving Harry the oddest look. “That’s how I feel about ‘Mione.”

“You love her.”

“Yeah,” Ron says. He gives it a couple of beats. “Wait . . .”

“I love him,” Harry says. “I know how you feel, Ron.”

Harry can feel every heartbeat in his chest as he confesses that to Ron. He looks back at Draco, who is making an incredulous face at some passage Hermione’s pointing out. He snaps the book shut and snorts, replacing it on the shelf as Hermione reaches for another. He catches Harry’s eye and smirks. It’s not his usual mean smirk, though. Harry knows this one is just his, the Harry smirk. And it hits Harry like a train all over again.

He’s so completely, utterly in love with Draco Malfoy. He loves his smirks and sneers and cunning jokes, his soft voice, his realness, his pain and baggage and hates his disorder because it’s hurting him, but Harry accepts that. He loves how his eyes can switch from cold to warm at the drop of a dime and his long, soft hair, his gorgeous illustrations, his coffee addiction, and the way he secretly loves wearing Harry’s stuff.

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Ron sighs and nods, looking back at Hermione like she’s the sun. 

Harry watches Draco as his attention slowly drifts from the book Hermione is holding to a point on the opposite side of the floor. He exchanges some words with Hermione, and they start that way. Ron and Harry follow.

Draco stops in front of a shelf full of art books. From history to technique. He pulls out some technique book and leafs through it. That sparkle is back.

“Harry, look at this,” he says, pushing a book in Harry’s face. “I never thought to try this, it is rather brilliant. Merlin, Muggles are brilliant,” he pauses, catching Harry’s eye. “Did you know that there are no art books written by wizards? I didn’t think they even existed! But look at these million Muggle books, all about drawing. It’s ingenious,” he flashes Harry a smile and turns back around to browse more. Hermione looks downright shocked, an expression that slowly shifts into something that could be called approval.

“What the fuck?” is what Harry pretends Ron didn’t say under his breath.

Draco asks Hermione about architecture books. Hermione gives him an odd look, but they find the section. Once Draco sits on the floor to leaf through a heavy tome, Harry decides he needs a break.

“Ron and I are going to the cafe. Meet us there?” Harry calls. Hermione hums something that could be an answer and Draco just nods. Both completely engrossed.

Ron rolls his eyes and pulls Harry away.

“Coming here was a mistake, why did I let this happen?” He groans.

Ron and Harry are seeing how many cream packets they can stack by the time Hermione and Draco join them. Draco slides into the seat next to Harry, shoving a pile of books in his face, knocking over their tower.

“Hey!” Ron scoffs.

“Look at this,” Draco’s eyes are beaming again as he flips through an heavy book. He opens it to a page. “This is the same book Theo had, the one that sparked my little interest in architecture.”

Harry watches him become excited, and it’s just like when Harry watched Draco look at Big Ben. His walls are down and he’s purely himself, excited about a book, and Harry forgets the whole world exists for a moment. He leans in and kisses Draco mid sentence. Draco makes a surprised noise, but returns it for a moment. It’s not a long kiss, just a quick little thing. Draco smiles at Harry.

“Hey,” a voice breaks Harry out of the moment. He looks over Draco’s shoulder to see a man in a suit with a kid, who can’t be more than seven or eight. The man does not look happy. “Keep that behavior at home.”

“Sorry?” Draco scoffs, raising a dangerous eyebrow.

“Look, I’m not homophobic, but there are children here,” he lowers his voice, looking down at Draco. “What will my son start to think, seeing that in public?”

Draco makes to stand, but Ron beats him to it. “He’ll probably think they’re a couple?”

“Ron,” Hermione pulls at his sleeve. People are starting to take notice.

“Look, just think of the example you’re setting. I’m trying to raise him correctly, and that seeing that is confusing for a child.”

“If anyone is confused it’s you. They’re setting the example that it’s okay to be yourself in public. There’s nothing wrong with it, what’s wrong is you and how your raising him!”

“Are you telling me how to raise my kid?” The man bellows. Ron stands taller, taking a step forward. The layers of his winter clothing make him look bulkier than he is and the has a few inches on the man, who wavers.

“I’m just telling you how it is, and how raising him like that is a mistake. You’re teaching him to hide things from you!”

“Ron!” Harry says. 

“Are you calling me homophobic? I’ll have you know--”

“Sir,” a woman interrupts, stepping between the two. She’s wearing a shiny name tag that reads manager. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Are you kidding?”

She shakes her head. “You’re disturbing our guests. I have to ask you to leave.”

“ _Me_ disturbing _them?_ ” He sputters.

“If you don’t leave, we will have to call--”

“Fine!” He scowls at Harry and Draco. “Fine, I’m leaving,” he says, dragging his kid away. The poor kid looks mortified.

“Are you four all right? I’m terribly sorry about that,” she drops her haughty stance, and smiles at them.

“Don’t worry about it, not your fault idiots exists,” Draco sighs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says, walking away.

Ron deflates, and slumps down. Harry just looks at him, unbelieving that Ron just stood up for Draco. Hermione rubs a hand up and down his back, looking surprised and proud.

“Sorry to steal your thunder, Malfoy, you just don’t look very theatrening. No offence,” Ron mumbles, eyes trailing Draco. 

“None taken, Weasley,” Draco says.

“Ron,” Harry says, meeting his eye. There’s a seriousness there he hasn’t seen in a while.

“I’m not about to let some bigoted idiot talk to my friend and his boyfriend that way,” he says, a corner in his mouth pulling up into a half grin at the two.

“There was probably a better way to handle that, Ron,” Hermione says.

“Oh come _on_ , ‘Mione! You didn’t like that?”

“I, for one, was impressed,” Draco raises a hand, giving Ron a look of approval. Ron looks completely shocked at the expression being aimed toward him. He smiles, and looks back to Hermione.

“See? I’m impressive, ‘Mione, Malfoy said so!”

Hermione just groans, hiding a smile, Ron wraps an arm around her waist. Harry drapes an arm around Draco’s shoulder, and Draco leans in lazily. 

“I just hope that kid isn’t queer. So he doesn’t have to deal with parents like that,” Draco sighs. Harry gazes at him, wondering. Draco rarely brings up his parents. Harry wonders if they know.

Then Draco relaxes back into Harry, and the tension melts away. And everything is perfect.

~~~~~

“Any Christmas plans?” Harry asks Draco as they lounge in the common room, curled up in front of the fire at a decent hour. After coming home from London last week, the minute Draco and Harry entered the very full common room, he pulled Harry to him and kissed him deeply. Gasps rang out at first, then cheers. It was a very good moment, Harry thought. He felt much lighter since then. Sure, the unlikely couple received some odd looks, but they didn’t have to hide away any longer.

“Probably going to the Manor,” Draco says, an odd lightness in his voice. “Visit mother.”

Harry gives him a calculating look. “You don’t want to to to the Manor, do you?”

Draco buries his face into Harry’s shoulder, putting his book down. “No.”

“Well, I asked Ron about it the other day, and well. You don’t have to or anything, they can be a lot, you know, but if you want you can come to the Burrow with me? For Christmas?” 

“Ron was okay with that?” Draco asks, incredulous as ever.

“You could say that. Molly said she’d love to meet you, though,” Harry says, smiling. He can’t believe his fantasy of bringing Draco to his family, of bringing Draco _home,_ might actually play out.

“She did?” Draco pulls back to look at Harry’s face, surprised. Draco looks, well. Very vulnerable. Harry smiles, warmth pooling into him.

“Yes,” Harry replies. That’s what Ron said.

Draco curls back into Harry’s arms. “I still have to go to the Manor for Christmas Eve, at least. But, I’d like to go. To meet your Weasleys.”

Harry smiles, letting the happiness overflow by pressing a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's our story! I am thinking about writing a Draco at the Weasley's one shot/epilogue type thing though, so if that is something you all might want to read please let me know with a comment! They totally motivate me to write. All feedback is appreciated <3 Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me through the end! <3


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